f 


A  THEORY  OF  MIND 


BY 

JOHN   LEWIS   MARCH,  A.M.,  PH.D. 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1908 


COPYRIGHT,  1908,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published  September,  1908 


PREFACE 

THE  theory  presented  to  the  public  in  the  following 
pages  is  intended  to  meet  a  definite  need  in  the  present 
state  of  human  knowledge.  It  has,  namely,  been  the  thought 
of  many  who  have  considered  the  progress  of  science,  that 
the  next  great  advance  should  take  place  in  psychology,  and 
that  this  advance  should  be  the  result  of  a  clarification  of 
that  field,  chiefly  by  the  modern  science  of  biology.  Never- 
theless, up  to  the  present  time,  biology  has  had  an  extraor- 
dinarily slight  influence  in  this  direction,  in  spite  of  the 
ingenuity  and  talent  of  those  who  have  labored  for  it. 
Biology  and  psychology  still  stand  almost  rigidly  apart. 
But  if  it  has  become  increasingly  plain  that  the  two  sciences 
as  they  stand  will  not  help  each  other  much,  it  is  scarcely 
less  plain,  upon  consideration,  that  psychology  is  somehow 
at  fault  and  must  somehow  be  fundamentally  broadened. 
The  theory  of  the  instincts  here  proposed  is  intended  to 
meet  this  situation — to  show  what  the  fundamental  mis- 
conception has  been,  and,  in  so  doing,  to  break  the  dead- 
lock and  allow  the  sciences  to  come  together.  If  it  does 
this  (and,  if  accepted,  it  seems  clear  that  it  does)  it  opens 
the  way  for  solid  and  important  advances  and  discoveries — 
which,  I  trust,  we  shall  soon  see. 

The  preparation  of  the  theory  has  been  accomplished 
almost  in  solitude,  and  I  have  little  to  say  in  the  way  of 


vi  PREFACE 

special  acknowledgment.  A  number  of  friends  have  been 
sympathetic  and  at  times  directly  helpful.  I  cannot,  how- 
ever, send  the  volume  forth  without  mention,  by  name,  of 
my  brother,  Moncure  March,  Esq.,  to  whose  year-long  in- 
terest in  the  work,  and  judicious  criticisms  and  suggestions 
while  the  book  was  in  press,  I  feel  much  indebted. 


J.  L.  M. 


UNION  COLLEGE,  SCHENECTADY,  N.  Y. 
August  7,  1908. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

INTRODUCTION        i 

I.     MIND  AND  MATTER n 

II.     FUSION 23 

III.  THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND 48 

IV.  THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND    ...  84 
V.     FIRST  TRUTHS — KANT no 

VI.     THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS  .     .     .  131 

VII.     THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT 162 

VIII.     THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT 202 

IX.    THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT 262 

X.     THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT — (Continued)  .     .     .  305 

XI.     THE  SOCIAL  UNITS 366 

XII.    TYPES — CONCLUSION 414 

INDEX 433 


A    THEORY    OF    MIND 

INTRODUCTION 

WHEN  Galileo  and  others  discovered  the  experi- 
mental method  of  inquiry  into  the  facts  and  laws  of 
physical  nature,  they  began  a  movement  which  is  no 
doubt  destined  to  revolutionize  the  life  of  man  from 
end  to  end.  At  the  present  moment,  however,  and 
for  the  time  being,  the  resulting  situation  is  curiously 
ill-proportioned  as  to  the  two  great  possible  lines  of 
our  development.  For  while  the  experimental  method 
in  the  course  of  its  three  centuries  of  working  out 
has  increased  our  physical  knowledge  almost  to 
completion,  it  is  conspicuously  evident  that  it  has  so 
far  been  comparatively  inefficient  and  unfruitful  in 
the  realm  of  mental  phenomena.  As  a  result  we 
have  on  the  physical  side  a  solid  phalanx  of  purpose- 
ful and  adequate  sciences  which  seem  destined  to 
endure  for  all  time;  while,  on  the  psychological  side, 
we  have  a  number  of  scattered  and  unorganized  de- 
partments without  a  complete  theory  of  any  sort. 
The  great  volume  and  overwhelming  certitude  of  the 
physical  sciences  have  brought  it  about,  indeed,  that 
our  age  seems  most  commonly  to  have  forgotten  that 


A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

the  realm  of  mind  is  at  least  as  large  and  probably 
quite  as  law-abiding  as  that  of  matter,  and  that  of 
the  great  human  questions  by  far  the  larger  and  most 

•  ««CV,  ,-s^.  *.*"».    ^._i  ~f.    .  •••;•     •'..—..    .  -  .  .£>.    -  -  -    ••    »% 

irnrjortantpart  lie  in  this  undeveloped  and,,  jLcjen- 
tifically^almost  despj^etT  field.  ""Yet  it  is  so,  and  no 
more  important  task  lies  before  us  of  the  new  age 
than  the  exploration  of  this  side  of  our  world  and 
the  restoration  of  its  normal  balance  with  the 
physical. 

The  nature  of  the  mind  has  itself  been  the  cause  of 

this  delay  in  the  formation  of  an  acceptable  theory  for 

it.     There  is  but  one  method  of  direct  observation 

of  mental  phenomena,  viz.,  introspection.     But  this 

method    turns    out    to    be  almost   entirely  fruitless. 

j  The  mind  is  conscious  of  its  own  thoughts  and  of  a 

o^    considerable  number  of  feelings,  but  of  its  workings 

\ — of  its  essence — it  is  quite  unconscious.     We  fall 

into  a  void  as  soon  as  we  attempt  to  observe  exactly 

what  is  and  what  goes  on  in  it.     There  is  simply 

nothing  to  observe. 

It  is  therefore  necessary  to  proceed  indirectly,  and, 
after  the  collection  of  all  the  available  evidence  and 
the  carrying  out  of  many  kinds  of  experiments,  to 
invent,  through  the  scientific  imagination,  a  suitable, 
reasonable  hypothesis  as  to  the  facts  which  are  hidden 
from  us.  It  is  evident  that  such  a  task  could  be  suc- 
cessfully accomplished  only  by  the  most  careful  and 
patient  study  of  a  thoroughly  scientific  age. 

Mental  theories,  to  be  sure,  have  always  been  in  ex- 
istence since  man  began  to  think  at  all  elaborately. 
In  most  ages  the  unknownjfajcjmjias  been  called  the 


INTRODUCTION  3 

soul.  Its  nature,  origin,  and  destiny  have  been  part 
of  the  theme  of  most  of  the  religions  of  the  world. 
Psychology  thus  came  into  existence  naturally  as  the 
child  or  hand-maiden  of  religion,  and  to  some  extent 
it  is  so  still. 

But  modern  experiment  and  research  have  mate- 
rially changed  the  soul-theory.  We  have  gradually 
learned  some  of  the  laws  of  memory  and  thought; 
we  know  something  of  the  mind's  use  of  the  sense- 
organs,  nerves,  and  brain;  we  have  observed  and 
speculated  upon  the  relations  of  mind  and  matter; 
we  have  studied  the  minds  of  the  insane,  the  criminal, 
the  hysterical,  the  abnormal,  and  of  children,  women, 
and  men;  we  have  collected  data  and  have  observed 
the  acts  bearing  upon  the  minds  of  animals  and  upon 
their  relationship  to  the  human  mind.  The  theory 
of  a  soul  had  nothing  to  offer  in  aid  of  these  and  other 
similar  inquiries,  and  the  word  soul  itself  has  gradu- 
ally slipped  out  of  psychological  terminology.  It 
remains  almost  solely  from  the  religious  necessity. 

The  study  of  mind  thus  stands  at  the  present 
day  without  an  accepted  theory,  but  with  a  large 
accumulation  of  data  from  which  such  a  theory 
might  be  formed.  Psychologists,  psycho-physicists, 
biologists,  sociologists,  criminologists,  educators,  his- 
torians, critics,  artists,  theologians,  and  philanthro- 
pists, each  in  his  own  way,  have  contributed  signifi- 
cant facts,  and  although  the  work  has  been  without 
plan  and  without  much  cumulative  effect,  yet  the 
facts  are  at  hand.  There  was  never  so  much  psycho- 
logical knowledge  in  the  air  as  now;  never  such  press- 


4  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ing  need  of  a  unifying  and  directing  working-hypoth- 
esis; and  never,  also,  so  large  a  chance  of  success 
for  the  theorizer. 

A  proposal  for  such  a  theory  is  contained  in  the 
following  chapters.  It  is,  I  believe,  the  first  complete 
hypothesis  that  has  been  proposed;  for,  with  all  its 
faults,  it  is  a  complete  hypothesis.  By  complete 
is  meant  that  it  covers  all  sorts  of  mental  phenomena. 
It  is  also  a  working-hypothesis,  for  it  opens  immense 
fields  in  which  it  can  be  applied,  and  it  is  itself  ca- 
pable of  substantiation,  disproof,  and  improvement. 

Its  imperfections,  and  no  doubt  they  are  many, 
should  fairly  be  viewed  with  a  certain  leniency.  A 
theory  of  such  scope  cannot  be  made  perfect  by  one 
man  or  in  a  few  years.  Its  promise  must  be  its 
recommendation.  The  magnitude  of  the  field  to  be 
covered,  the  diversity  of  authorities  and  methods,  the 
insufficiency  of  information  on  many  points — the 
difficulties,  in  short,  of  adapting  old  facts  and  partial 
theories  to  the  new  point  of  view,  have  been  a  real 
factor  in  the  condition  of  the  theory  as  it  stands. 
Much  better  evidence  as  to  many  details  will  some 
day  be  forthcoming,  I  trust,,  and,  in  a  word,  the  theory 
should  be  criticised  as  a  whole  rather  than  too  sharply 
in  all  its  details. 

In  order  that  the  reader  may  be  prepared  for  the 
discussion  which  is  to  follow,  I  will  here  run  over  its 
main  points,  beginning  with  the  most  obvious  matters 
and  then  working  back,  very  much  in  the  order  in 
which  the  successive  stages  originated.  In  the  dis- 
cussion itself  the  opposite  order  is  pursued,  the  first 


INTRODUCTION  5 

chapters  being  a  consideration  of  the  most  elemental 
questions  and  the  statement  of  certain  principles  and 
axioms;  the  later  ones  containing  a  development  of 
these  principles  and  axioms  in  many  simple  and 
common  phenomena. 

We  take  our  departure  from  the  proposition  that 
both  the  thoughts  and  the  actions  of  a  man  are  de- 
termined by  his  character.  What  a  man  does  shows 
what  he  is,  and  what  he  thinks  shows  it  no  less.  The 
amount  of  his  success  in  thought  and  in  action, 
depends,  to  be  sure,  in  part  upon  what  we  may  call 
the  comparative  mechanical  excellence  of  his  body 
and  brain.  Sensations  also  are  in  part  beyond  his 
control.  Nevertheless,  it  remains  true  that  //  he 
acts  and  /'/  he  combines  memories  into  thoughts, 
these  things  take  place  according  to  his  character. 

Our  next  step  is  to  ask  what  character  is.  The 
answer  is  this,  that  character  is  the  sum  of  the  likes, 
dislikes,  desires,  inclinations,  interests,  etc.,  of  the 
man.  In  order  to  action  or  thought  some  one  or 
more  of  these  must  be  aroused,  and  direct  the  action 
or  thought. 

But  further:  How  many  desires,  inclinations,  and 
interests  are  there  ?  Is  it  possible  to  classify  them  ? 
And,  if  so,  how  ?  These  problems  are  of  great 
practical  importance,  and  I  hope  they  may  be  found 
satisfactorily  met  in  the  body  of  the  book.  The 
classification  is  there  made  in  detail  and  with  the 
intention  of  omitting  no  desire,  inclination,  interest, 
or  any  feeling  of  the  sort.  The  lines  of  the  classifica- 
tion chosen  correspond,  in  a  general  way,  to  the  or- 


6  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

dinary  ones.  They  are,  namely,  along  the  lines  of 
the  desires  for  food,  sex,  and  society. 

But,  further:  What  is  a  desire  ?  The  theory  hardly 
attempts  a  definition  but  it  states  two  important  facts. 
In  the  first  place,  there  can  be  no  definite  desire  in 
advance  of  some  experience  of  the  thing  desired.  If 
I  have  tasted  sugar  I  can  afterward  desire  it;  but  I 
cannot  desire  it  if  I  have  never  seen  or  tasted  it. 
Similarly  I  can  have  no  interest  in  a  thing  of  which 
I  have  never  even  heard,  although,  having  heard,  that 
very  thing  might  interest  me  greatly.  So,  I  can 
neither  like  nor  dislike,  say  venison,  until  I  have  tasted 
or  smelled  or  seen  it.  But  does  not  a  taste  for  sugar 
exist  before  our  experience  of  sugar  ?  This  theory 
holds  that  it  does;  that  a  man  may,  indeed,  have 
desires  that  are  never  identified  because  the  object 
of  them  never  comes  into  the  man's  experience;  that 
the  child  is  full  of  desires  although  he  may  not  have 
the  least  thought  of  what  he  desires.  It  holds,  in 
short,  that  all  desires  are  inborn,  that  they  are 
originally  quite  vacant  of  thought,  and  that  they  be- 
come definite  only  through  experience.  This  original 
thought-free  desire  will  be  called  an  impulse,  a 
broadening  of  the  use  of  that  word;  —  an  impulse 
together  with  the  thought  of  its  object  will  be  called  a 
desire,  inclination,  interest,  or  the  like. 

In  the  second  place,  impulses  and  desires  regularly 
and  instinctively  produce  actions  tending  to  their 
satisfaction.  This  also  takes  place  without  thought, 
or  in  advance  of  thought.  Thus,  the  child  will  use 
its  hand  to  put  things  into  its  mouth  before  it  knows 


INTRODUCTION  7 

that  it  has  a  hand  or  a  mouth.  All  elementary 
actions  are  in  this  way  direct,  or  if  we  choose,  reflex. 
It  is  the  inhibition  of  acts  after  experience,  and 
through  the  working  of  several  impulses  or  modes  of 
impulse  at  once,  that  brings  about  what  is  called 
control  of  the  body.  Any  impulse  together  with  its 
reflex  acts  and  its  influence  will  be  called  an  instinct. 

In  addition  to  their  control  of  the  body  in  its  rela- 
tions to  external  objects  of  sensation,  the  impulses 
also  control  the  body  within  itself,  notably  in  the  ar- 
rangement and  ordering  of  memories.  This  form 
of  action  is  called  thought,  reasoning,  and  the  like. 
Thus  all  thoughts  as  well  as  all  other  bodily  activities 
must  be  ascribed  to  definite  impulses,  and  this  is 
attempted  also  in  detail  in  the  chapters  upon  the 
instincts. 

Having  reached  this  point,  it  is  evident  that  the 
barriers  between  the  mind  in  man  and  that  in  the 
lower  animals  fall  quite  away.  The  theory  passes 
easily  from  the  elemental  instincts  of  man,  with  their 
absence  of  thought  and  their  instinctive  acts  tending 
to  their  satisfaction,  to  the  similar  instincts  in  the 
lower  animals.  It  appears  that  the  same  primal 
impulses  are  found  in  them  and  in  us;  and  that  in 
them  as  in  us  instinctive  actions  tend  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  impulses. 

Not  less  important  is  the  development  of  the  theory 
when  pushed  still  further.  For  it  is  quite  possible 
and  quite  within  the  limits  of  the  evidence  to  suppose 
instincts  in  the  molecules  and  atoms;  and  it  will  some 
day  be  possible  and  reasonable  to  find  them  in  those 


8  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

still  mysterious  entities  of  which  atoms  may  be  com- 
posed. Here,  too,  we  may  suppose  impulses  made 
definite  by  influences  from  other  units,  and  resulting 
in  inevitable  instinctive  actions  tending  to  the  satis- 
faction of  the  impulse.  But  if  this  is  done,  the  theory 
broadens  and  may  be  made  to  account  for  many 
phenomena — for  the  senses  in  the  higher  forms  of 
organisms,  for  memory,  for  the  shaping  powers  under- 
lying morphology,  etc.  These  matters  also  will  be 
discussed  in  their  place. 

Finally,  as  the  most  elemental  supposition  of  all, 
the  theory  supposes  the  identity  of  mind  with  matter. 
This  position  is  well  known  to  all  readers  of  Haeckel 
and  others,  under  the  name  of  Monism. 

The  discussion  of  the  theory  accordingly  begins 
with  a  chapter  on  Monism,  followed  by  one  upon  the 
nature  of  the  fusion  of  units  of  lower  grades  into  those 
of  higher  grades.  Then,  beginning  with  the  atom, 
all  the  simple  phenomena  of  mind  are  explained  and 
classified.  The  book  concludes  with  a  chapter  upon 
variations  and  upon  some  of  the  practical  applications 
of  the  theory  as  a  working-hypothesis. 

Completeness  in  the  list  of  the  human  phenomena 
discussed  was  undoubtedly  of  the  utmost  importance, 
but  there  was  no  chance  that  it  should  be  absolutely 
attained.  There  seems  to  be  no  rational  method  of 
filling  out  the  range  of  the  mind,  and  for  lack  of  a 
better  method  I  was  forced  to  fall  back  upon  the 
somewhat  crude  and  yet  not  unfruitful  idea  of  search- 
ing a  dictionary  for  words  expressing  qualities  and 
interests.  This  gave  some  two  thousand,  all  of 


INTRODUCTION  9 

which  were  found  to  be  embraced  in  the  scheme, 
and  were  thus  a  substantial  and  reassuring  proof  of 
its  comprehensiveness.  That  the  theory  can  be 
fairly  extended  to  cover  any  omissions,  I  have  no 
doubt. 

The  words  here  referred  to  are  many  of  them  used 
as  illustrative  in  the  course  of  the  book.  It  may  be 
well  to  state  here,  once  for  all,  that  in  most  cases 
but  one  meaning  of  a  word  is  considered,  and  that 
many  of  them  have  other  meanings  that  would  bring 
them  into  quite  other  positions  than  those  in  which 
they  will  be  found.  No  claim  is  made  that  the  word 
always  or  even  most  commonly  has  the  meaning 
picked  as  illustrative. 

But  although  the  theory  attempts  completeness, 
this  is  only  in  elementary  and  simple  matters. 
Many  complex  questions  and  fine  distinctions  that 
are  commonly  discussed  at  length  in  psychologies, 
will  thus  be  found  barely  mentioned  or  even  entirely 
omitted.  This  will  be  noticed  in  almost  every  chapter. 

Another  omission  that  may  be  noted  here,  though 
it  comes  up  for  discussion  at  various  points,  is  the 
question  of  origins.  The  phenomena  are  accepted 
as  existent  and  explicable  as  they  are.  The  method 
pursued  is  in  general  analytic  and  no  recourse  is  had 
to  the  laws  of  natural  selection  and  of  the  survival 
of  the  fittest  to  explain  them.  This,  I  am  convinced, 
is  the  only  proper  method  of  attacking  the  greatest 
problems  of  psychology,  or,  for  that  matter,  of  biology 
either.  The  Darwinian  laws  have  been  grossly  mis- 
used during  the  last  generation,  and  have  thus  done 


10  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

science  an  appreciable  harm.  The  law  of  the  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest  is  at  best  a  law  of  survival,  not  a 
law  of  creation;  and  science  must  attack  the  problems 
of  the  creation  of  the  animal  as  well  as  the  problems 
of  its  survival.  The  assumption  that  natural  varia- 
tion takes  place  unlimitedly  in  every  direction,  and 
its  corollary  that  every  detail  of  an  animal  has  at  some 
time  been  selected,  and  therefore  has  some  use,  are  as 
unwarranted  as  they  have  often  been  in  their  results 
ridiculous.  There  are  possibilities  and  impossibilities 
in  growth;  there  are  fundamental  laws  of  growth  and 
of  correlation;  and  animals  survive  not  because  they 
are  specially  fit,  but  because  they  are  on  the  whole 
not  unfit — which  is  quite  a  different  matter.  The 
strictness  and  value  of  reasoning  in  this  field  largely 
depart  with  the  entrance  of  the  ideas  of  unlimited 
variation  and  useful  selection  with  their  easy,  uni- 
versal, and  unverifiable  solutions. 

The  theory,  then,  will  treat  of  the  nature  of  mind 
in  itself;  of  the  materials  from  which  it  must  be 
built  and  how  they  are  combined  in  various  in- 
stances; of  the  axiomatic  laws  by  which  it  is  governed; 
of  the  limitations  beyond  which,  apparently,  it  cannot 
pass.  The  economic  and  historic  sides,  important 
though  they  are,  it  will  leave  entirely — or  nearly  so— 
to  some  complementary  science  such  as  psychological 
cecology. 


CHAPTER  I 
MIND  AND  MATTER 

THE  problem  of  the  relationship  of  mind  and  mat- 
ter is  one  which  must  be  met  and  at  least  partially 
solved  by  any  thorough-going  system  of  psychology. 
Only  confusion  can  result  from  the  neglect  of  so 
fundamental  a  question.  The  chief  considerations 
are  as  follows: 

1.  Both  mind  and  matter  are  found  in  units  that 
are  similarly  limited  in  space  and  (in  their  complex 
forms}  in  time.     The  human  mind,  for  instance,  is 
found  only  within  the  limits  of  the  body;    and,  like 
the  body,  it  varies  from  moment  to  moment. 

2.  The  simpler  units  of  mind  are  found  in  connec- 
tion with  the  simpler  units  of  matter;    the  complex 
units  of  mindy  in  connection  with  the  more  complex 
units  of  matter. 

3.  Mind  is  not  known  to  exist  apart  from  matter. 
Any  other  position  rests  at  the  present  time  on  faith, 
rather   than   on   knowledge.     It  is,   at  least,   much 
safer  to  avoid  for  the  present  the  assumptions  of 
spiritualism    and    to    rest   on   ordinary   well-proved 

phenomena. 

11 


12  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

4.  The  phenomena  of  matter  can  be  fully  and  satis- 
factorily explained  without  reference  to  mind. 

This  has  been  pretty  thoroughly  shown  by  modern 
science.  Physics,  chemistry,  astronomy,  geology, 
biology,  etc.,  all  deal  adequately  with  the  phenomena 
of  matter  without  reference  to  mind./  It  is  true  that 
certain  questions  of  elementary  physics  involving  the 
properties  of  the  ether  and  the  relations  of  matter 
and  force  have  not  been  settled;  but  if  they  are  ever 
settled,  it  must  be  by  physics,  not  by  psychology./ 

It  is  to  be  especially  noted  that  living  matter  does 
not  escape  physical  explanation.  Living  matter 
obeys  the  laws  of  physics  and  chemistry  as  implicitly 
as  the  inorganic  world  does;  and  where  it  acts  in 
ways  characteristic  of  it  alone,  it  is  still  according  to 
laws  of  matter,  from  the  division  and  multiplication 
of  cells,  through  the  processes  of  digestion,  oxydiza- 
tion,  assimilation,  secretion,  regeneration,  and  what 
not,  even  to  such  acts  as  the  movement  of  an  arm 
or  a  leg.  It  is  true  that  the  physical  and  chemical 
phenomena  of  the  body  are  still  largely  unexplained 
in  their  details.  There  is,  however,  nothing  in  them 
to  suggest  that  they  are  not  taking  place  according  to 
regular  laws,  and  we  may  believe  that  the  solution 
of  many  of  these  problems  will  turn  out  to  be  far 
simpler  than  could  have  been  hoped  fifty  years  ago, 
or  even  twenty.  In  any  case  they  cannot  be  solved 
by  psychology,  for  if  the  mind  came  in,  it  would  come 
into  the  realm  of  physics,  and  would  be  either  a  force 
or  a  material — and  there  would  be  no  more  of  what 
we  understand  as  mind. 


MIND  AND   MATTER  13 

5.  'The    mind    cannot    be    investigated   directly    by 
physical  methods. 

No  amount  of  investigation  has  been  able  to  dis- 
cover the  seat  of  the  mind  as  such,  or  to  find  any 
material  or  force  of  which  it  might  be  said  that  it 
was  mind.     Nor  is  such  a  thing  thinkable;   no  com-  ( 
bination  of  physical  or  chemical  ideas  can  form  the  ( 
idea  we  connect  with  mind.     It  belongs  to  a  distinct  \ 
category.   A  thought  and  an  atom  or  a  force  are  abso-  ^ 
lutely  different,  and  it  is  impossible  for  our  minds  to 
find  anything  fundamental  that  they  have  in  common.) 

6.  The    mind    knows    nothing    of    matter    except 
through  experience. 

It  learns  of  the  arms  and  legs  it  uses,  just  as  it 
learns  of  tables  and  chairs.  If  an  arm  be  seized,  it 
says,  "That  is  I";  or,  after  it  has  learned  to  identify 
certain  feelings  with  certain  objective  things,  it  may 
say,  "You  have  me  by  the  arm."  This,  however, 
remains  always  superficial.  The  mind  never  be- 
comes conscious  of  nerves  or  muscles,  of  molecular 
changes  in  the  brain,  of  messages  sent,  of  retinal 
images.  It  is  perfectly  direct;  "I  move  my  arm," 
"I  see,"  "I  think."  It  is  conscious  that  it  acts  and 
acts  freely.  Its  explanation  of  things  is  perfectly  sim- 
ple and  satisfactory  to  it,  and  it  is  unable  to  realize 
anything  else,  though  it  may  be  forced  to  admit  that 
it  may  be  wrong.  When  it  thinks  of  its  body,  it  is 
as  of  something  owned  by  it,  like  clothes — a  "vesture 
of  decay,"  for  instance. 

7.  So  far  as  we  know,  mind  is  affected  only  through 
physical  means. 


14  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

All  the  senses  are  affected  physically  and  not  other- 
wise. It  is  not  thought  but  vibration  that  enters 
the  eye  or  the  ear;  and  the  surface  of  the  body  is 
constantly  transforming  pressure  and  heat  into  men- 
tal equivalents.  That  minds  may  affect  each  other 
without  any  material  means  is  under  such  circum- 
stances an  assumption,  not  only  needless,  but  con- 
fusing; if  minds  affect  each  other  by  unknown  means, 
those  means  are  still  to  be  thought  of  as  physical. 
So,  also,  when  we  think  of  thought  transference  along 
nerves,  or  from  one  part  of  the  brain  to  another. 
There  is,  however,  probably  only  one  opinion  upon 
this  point  in  modern  psychological  thought. 

It  should  perhaps  be  noted  that  the  mind  may  be 
affected  also  indirectly  through  matter.  A  blow  may 
produce  the  sensation  of  light;  chemicals  may  alter 
the  mental  condition;  a  surgical  operation,  or  some 
physical  happening  like  the  bursting  of  a  blood- 
vessel in  the  brain,  or  some  abnormal  condition  or 
growth  of  the  skull,  may  be  a  serious  mental  influence; 
and  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  the  flow  of  blood  to 
the  brain  is  regularly  proportioned  to  the  mental 
labor  being  performed  there,  the  thoughts  evidently 
needing  blood. 

Our  attempt  must  now  be  to  throw  some  light  upon 
these  considerations,  so  as  to  show  either  how  their 
baffling  nature  may  be  reconciled  or  how  the  con- 
fusion arises. 

Two  theories  are  common:  either  that  mind  con- 
trols matter — a  theory  drawn  from  our  inner  convic- 


MIND  AND   MATTER  15 

tion;  or  that  matter  controls  mind — a  theory  drawn 
from  physical  science.  The  first  is  impossible  to 
maintain  except  by  ignoring  or  denying  physical 
science;  the  second  leaves  no  room  for  the  mental. 
Neither  throws  light  on  the  whole  situation.  Usually 
men  hybridize  the  two  positions  and  choose  the  first 
for  the  higher  phenomena  of  the  mind,  as  in  man; 
the  second  for  the  lower  ones,  such,  for  instance,  as 
are  to  be  observed  among  the  lowest  animals. 

The  confusion  in  the  situation  is  this,  that  mind 
cannot  be  expressed  in  terms  of  matter,  nor  matter 
in  terms  of  mind;  and  that  both  claim  exclusive 
control  over  the  same  phenomena.  If  I  put  out  my 
hand  and  take  a  book,  the  physicist  will  try  to  explain 
every  part  of  the  phenomenon  by  his  laws,  while  I 
remain  convinced  that  I  did  it  because  I  chose  to. 
It  will  be  noticed  that  he  is  looking  at  the  case  from 
the  outside,  while  I  am  inside  of  it. 

Our  theory  meets  the  situation  simply  in  this  way: 
.Matter  to  itself  is  mind. 
,Mind,  as  it  reveals  itself  to  another  mind>  is  matter. 

Matter  and  mind  are  thus  to  be  considered  identical. 

The  world  as  discovered  outside  of  us,  is  thus  made 
up  entirely  of  matter;  the  world  as  discovered  within 
us,  is  entirely  mind.  Thus  the  two  can  never  find 
common  ground,  for  they  are  built  up  on  funda- 
mentally different  experiences.  Even  when  the 
mind  looks  for  itself  externally,  it  finds  only  matter, 
for  it  is  impossible  that  it  should  find  anything  else 
by  that  method.  It  is  only  by  reasoning  that  we 
learn  to  identify  inner  phenomena  with  those  of 


16  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

sensation,  and  to  say,  for  instance,  that  such  or  such 
an  expenditure  of  blood  in  the  brain  occurred  in  the 
same  place  and  at  the  same  time  as  such  or  such  a 
thought,  and  that  they  are  therefore  connected  in 
some  intimate  way.  This  recognition  of  the  abso- 
lute parallelism  of  the  world  of  thought,  with  certain 
phenomena  of  the  world  as  observed  through  the 
senses,  has  been  of  slow  growth,  though  at  the  present 
day  probably  universal. 

The  position  above  stated  asserts  the  identity  of 
matter  and  mind  and  their  inseparableness.  This 
position  is  not  a  new  one.  It  is  a  form  of  what  is 
known  as  Monism.  It  must  be  freely  admitted  that 
in  the  form  here  given  it  cannot  remain  unchanged. 
A  further  step  must  be  taken,  namely,  when  the 
physicists  have  determined  the  relations  to  each  other 
of  matter  and  force.  That,  however,  must  be  left 
to  the  future.  Whatever  it  may  be,  the  further  ad- 
vance will  not  destroy  our  statement  as  a  working 
theory.  It  will  merely  complete  it,  as  it  will  complete 
and  not  destroy  the  present  sciences  of  chemistry, 
physics,  and  their  allies.  The  facts  will  remain  the 
same  and  their  general  relationships  the  same. 

Certain  implications  of  our  position  are  to  be 
noted. 

If  matter  is  to  itself  mind,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
assume  mind  wherever  there  is  matter,  or  else  that 
there  are  essential  differences  in  this  respect  in  the 
chemical  elements.  We  choose  the  first  position  and 
assume  a  realm  for  the  science  of  mind,  conterminous 
with  the  realm  of  matter.  Wherever  matter  is,  mind 


MIND  AND   MATTER  17 

is.  And  we  make  this  definition:  The  realm  of 
mind  is  the  realm  of  matter  as  that  realm  is  to  itself. 
This  definition  does  not  imply  a  mental  unity  in  the 
realm  of  mind;  it  is  merely  a  statement  of  the  ex- 
tent of  that  realm.  It  is  meant  also  to  emphasize  our 
theory  that  every  condition  in  the  realm  of  matter 
is  a  condition  in  the  realm  of  mind;  and  that  the 
changes  in  the  one  are  changes  of  exactly  the  same 
reach  and  importance  in  the  other;  in  a  word,  that 
the  two  realms  are  identical.  The  sciences  of  mind 
and  matter  will  be  perfect,  therefore,  when,  for  every 
state  or  change  in  matter  and  force,  the  physicist 
shall  have  his  laws  and  explanations;  and  when  the 
psychologist  shall  be  able  to  declare  the  correspond- 
ing state  or  change  in  mind — the  two  explanations 
matching  perfectly,  point  for  point,  and  covering  and 
explaining  the  entire  range  of  the  phenomena  of  the 
world. 

The  monistic  position  with  regard  to  the  atoms  is  a 
large  one,  and  may  seem  at  first  glimpse  farther  be- 
yond our  verifiable  facts  than  it  probably  is.  It  is 
to  be  recollected  that  if  there  can  be  no  proof  that 
every  atom  of  matter  is  also  mind,  there  is  equally 
no  proof  that  such  a  state  of  things  does  not  exist; 
so  that,  apart  from  sentiment,  the  one  position  is  quite 
as  tenable  as  the  other.  Our  only  care  need  be, 
not  to  claim  one  jot  more  than  the  phenomena  will 
justify.  And  this  is  our  intention;  for  as  the  atom 
is  (we  shall  consider)  the  primitive  form  of  matter, 
so  the  mind  of  which  it  is  the  external  form  is  the 
primitive  mind.  Just  what  that  may  imply  is  to  be 


18  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

carefully  considered  in  the  proper  place.  At  present 
we  are  concerned  merely  with  the  existence  of  mind. 

As  to  the  reasonable  probability  of  the  contermm- 
ousness  of  mind  and  matter,  we  add  the  following 
consideration.  It  is  one  of  the  laws  of  reason  that 
by  uniting  things  it  is  impossible  to  get  more  than  the 
sum  of  the  things  united,  though  the  sum  need  not  in 
all  respects  resemble  the  units  taken  together — /.  e., 
need  not  be  a  mere  mixture.  There  may  be  an 
alteration,  but  there  can  be  no  increase  either  of 
matter  or  offeree.  The  progress  of  science  has  been 
a  constant  confirmation  of  this  law  as  one  of  objective 
validity.  Now  man  is  an  assemblage  of  atoms.  If 
we  suppose  that  the  separate  atoms  contain  no 
elements  of  mind,  how  shall  we  account  for  the  mind  ? 
Whence  did  it  come  ?  Certainly,  it  is  in  accord  with 
the  scientific  method  of  thought  to  suppose  that  if 
matter  ever  thinks  (and  it  does  think  in  man),  it  must 
in  its  elemental  state  contain  the  elements  of  thought. 
Now  the  elements  of  which  the  human  mind  is  com- 
posed must  be  called  mind.  They  cannot  belong  to 
the  category  of  matter.  As  matter  must  be  com- 
posed of  matter  or  at  least  of  something  physical, 
so  mind  must  be  composed  of  mind  or  at  least  of 
something  psychic.  If  we  follow  reason,  the  con- 
clusion is  not  to  be  avoided. 

But  it  is  possible  to  add  something  that  may  seem 
more  directly  confirmatory  of  this  position.  Not, 
of  course,  with  regard  to  the  detached  atoms  and 
molecules  of  the  chemist's  laboratory,  for  it  is  plain 
that  we  can  prove  nothing  concerning  them.  For 


MIND   AND   MATTER  19 

any  direct  evidence  we  must  take  the  atoms  we  know 
about,  namely,  those  in  our  own  bodies.  But  here 
the  trend  of  modern  thought  is  in  favor  of  our  theory. 
The  modern  theory  of  the  body  is  that  it  is  a  com- 
munity of  cells,  interdependent,  but  each  living  of 
itself  and  acting  through  its  own  power.  Certain  of 
the  cells,  e.  g.,  those  of  absorption  and  secretion,  act 
almost  or  quite  of  themselves;  others,  e.  g.,  of  the 
muscles,  usually  require  an  external  stimulus,  after 
which,  however,  they  act  through  their  own  power. 
In  the  case  of  nervous  and  sense  cells,  this  view 
would  hold  that  there  is  first  a  local  sensation  at  the 
point  of  contact  with  the  sensation-producing  force, 
and  that  the  local  condition,  or  a  part  of  it,  is  then 
conveyed  sympathetically  to  other  cells,  e,  g.,  of  the 
brain,  where  it  may  be  worked  up  and  combined  into 
elaborate  thoughts.  According  to  this  theory,  the 
eye  itself  feels  light,  although  incapable  of  what  we 
commonly  call  thought;  we  have  thoughts  about  the 
feeling  only  after  the  eye  has  communicated  its  im- 
pressions to  the  brain  cells.  There  might  thus,  of 
course,  be  a  local  feeling  of  which  the  brain  would 
never  be  fully  conscious,  for  whether  the  brain  shall 
know  depends  largely  upon  the  nerves.  That  is  in- 
deed the  modern  belief,  for  there  cannot  be  the 
least  doubt  that  much  goes  on  in  the  body  of  which 
the  brain  knows  nothing  clearly.  All  parts  of  the 
community  are  not  equally  represented  in  the  con- 
gress of  the  brain.  Some  seem  not  represented  at 
all;  others  scantily  and  hazily.  In  the  primitive 
multicellular  animals  it  is  supposed  that  each  cell 


20  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

feels  all  that  any  other  cell  experiences;  but  this  is 
far  from  true  in  the  more  complex  animals,  where  a 
division  of  labor  and  a  high  specialization  of  the 
parts  have  been  accompanied  by  a  much  less  uni- 
versal unity. 

To  return  now  to  our  argument.  The  effect  of 
sugar  upon  the  cells  in  the  tongue  is  chemical  in 
nature.  There  is  atomic  or  molecular  action. 
Viewed  from  the  inside,  some  sensitiveness  of  taste 
is  found.  The  two  occurrences  are  the  same  and 
are  in  the  same  place  though  the  feeling  is,  in  effect, 
afterward  transferred  to  the  brain  and  called  sweet- 
ness. This  belief  in  local  sensitiveness  is  a  distinct 
step  in  the  direction  of  allowing  sensitiveness  in  the 
atoms. 

Our  theory  of  the  relationship  and  fields  of  mind 
and  matter  is  thus  not  unreasonable  nor  contrary  to 
the  direction  of  biologic  thought.  It  has  as  ad- 
vantages not  only  that  it  avoids  the  difficulty  of  mak- 
ing mind  come  in  at  some  later  point,  but  that  it 
keeps  the  realms  of  mind  and  of  matter  quite  separate, 
and  defines  them  clearly — a  desirable  thing,  as  many 
readers  of  our  biologists  and  psychologists  will  agree. 
At  the  same  time  it  puts  them  into  intimate  relation- 
ship, for  if  mind  and  matter  are  identical,  and  any 
change  in  the  one  means  a  change  in  the  other,  it 
will  be  necessary  for  the  psychologist  always  to  have 
an  eye  upon  the  work  of  the  physicist — since  our 
mental  life  is  so  fused  and  so  largely  unconscious; 
and  on  the  other  hand,  the  physicist  may  have  his 
theories — especially  of  living  things — suggested  or 


MIND  AND  MATTER  21 

confirmed  by  the  labors  of  the  psychologist.  The 
two,  however,  are  working  distinct  fields,  and  the 
great  mass  of  their  work  is  hardly  likely  to  touch 
seriously  for  a  long  time  to  come. 

Before  leaving  this  subject  a  word  may  be  in  order 
regarding  law  and  liberty.  The  physicists  speak  of 
law;  the  mind  is  conscious  of  freedom.  Our  theory, 
holding  that  mind  is  identical  with  matter,  may 
fairly  be  called  upon  to  throw  some  light  on  this 
ancient  question.  If  freedom  is  a  question  of  the 
mind's  will,  we  stand  for  it  absolutely;  the  mind 
does  what  it  will.  Closely  considered,  the  position 
of  the  physicist  contains  no  contradiction  of  this. 
It  merely  asserts  that  under  given  conditions  certain 
things  will  always  happen — because  they  always 
have  happened,  so  far  as  we  know.  Mentally  stated, 
this  will  read,  "Under  given  conditions  the  mind 
always  desires  to  do  certain  things,  and  if  possible, 
does  them."  Mind  is  thus  perfectly  free  and  law 
perfectly  consistent  with  it.  Why  the  mind  under 
given  conditions  always  feels  a  certain  desire,  is  a 
question  we  may  leave  to  others.  That  it  is  practi- 
cally so,  however,  in  the  individuals  of  the  higher 
animals  and  of  man,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  It  is 
true  even  of  the  species.  In  a  given  situation  all  men 
feel  practically  alike — else  there  could  be  no  under- 
standing between  them,  no  language,  laws,  science, 
or  any  other  common  possession.  And  since  atoms 
are  probably  exactly  alike  physically  (we  suppose,  by 
our  theory,  that  men  differ  in  minds  as  and  to  the 
extent  that  they  differ  in  bodies),  we  may  easily  be- 


22  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

lieve  that  they  feel  exactly  alike  in  given  situations. 
This  would  explain  their  perfect  regularity  of  action; 
further  back  it  is  not  our  business  to  go. 

The  word  freedom  is  also  used,  of  course,  in  quite 
other  senses.  For  instance,  as  the  power  of  free 
choice  between  two  proposed  lines  of  action,  or  as 
a  freedom  in  the  individual  from  the  regular  results 
of  heredity  and  environment.  Such  questions,  how- 
ever, must  be  held  for  later  discussion. 


CHAPTER  II 
FUSION 

THE  act  and  state  in  nature  when  two  or  more 
units  combine  and  form  a  single  unit  of  a  higher  de- 
gree of  complexity  we  shall  call  fusion.  The  most 
marked  characteristic  of  a  fused  unit  is  that  under 
favorable  conditions  the  individuality  of  the  units 
of  which  it  is  composed  is  submerged.  The  fused 
unit  is  thus  a  true  unit  and  not  an  aggregation.  It 
appears  to  possess  qualities  and  powers  different 
from  those  of  the  component  units. 

A  complete  table  of  the  fusions  in  nature  is  prob- 
ably the  following: 

1.  The  simplest  fused  unit  is  the  atom.     Atoms 
are  now  believed  to  be  composed  of  simpler  units. 
This  science,  however,  is  in  its  infancy,  and  need  not 
be  considered  in  our  discussions. 

2.  The  molecule,  composed  of  atoms,  is  next  in  the 
scale.     The  study  of  the  composition  and  decomposi- 
tion of  molecules  is  chemistry. 

3.  Molecules  fuse  to  form  on   the   one  side,   the 
crystal;   on  the  other  side,  the  unicellular  plants  and 
animals. 

23 


24  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

4.  Unicellular  plants  and  unicellular  animals 
fuse  to  form  multicellular  plants  and  multicellular 
animals,  respectively. 

These  are  the  last  fusions,  but  the  tendency  to  a 
continuance  is  observable  in  multicellular  animals, 
which  join  in  various  fusion-like  aggregations  such 
as  the  family,  the  herd,  the  tribe,  and  the  nation. 

There  are  thus  four  steps  of  true  fusion,  and  it 
will  be  noticed  that  this  power  is  a  most  important 
one  in  the  evolution  of  the  world  as  we  know  it. 
It  is  now  our  task  to  examine  this  process  with  what 
care  we  can.  Fortunately  we  are  confronted  not 
with  a  supposed  occurrence  but  with  a  fact.  Our 
theories  about  it  cannot  obliterate  it. 

We  will  consider  first  the  case  of  a  molecule,  and, 
as  one  out  of  many,  that  of  water.  Water  is  a  fusion 
of  two  substances,  gaseous  at  ordinary  temperatures, 
hydrogen  and  oxygen.  The  significance  of  the  gas- 
eous condition  is  that  these  substances  at  ordinary 
temperatures  contain  a  larger  amount  of  potential 
heat  than  if  they  were  liquid  or  solid.  Hydrogen 
and  oxygen  may  be  mixed  at  ordinary  temperatures 
without  any  result;  they  remain  a  mixture  and  seem 
quite  separate.  But  if  a  spark  of  electricity  be  sent 
through  the  mixture,  the  gases  unite,  giving  off  heat 
and  sound,  and  the  result  is  water,  which  is  a  fusion 
of  the  gases. 

Two  points  are  here  worth  noticing:  First,  that 
fusion  is  not  an  inevitable  result  of  the  proximity  of 
the  components  of  a  fusion.  The  proper  conditions 
must  be  present.  The  environment  must  be  suitable. 


FUSION  25 

Secondly,  that  a  fusion  means  a  change  in  the  potential 
forces  of  the  units  which  unite.  In  this  case  the  gases 
gave  off  some  of  their  potential  energies  in  the  form 
of  heat  and  sound.  As  a  result,  the  fused  units,  the 
molecules,  have  a  smaller  amount  of  potential  heat 
than  the  gases  had,  and  form  a  liquid  at  ordinary 
temperatures. 

The  molecules  of  water,  then,  are  fused  units. 
They  act  as  units  in  all  ordinary  circumstances. 
Water  may  be  boiled  or  frozen,  may  be  put  under 
pressure  or  divided  indefinitely,  may  be  mixed  with 
most  substances  or  enter  into  the  bodies  of  animals. 
In  all  these  cases  it  behaves  exactly  like  a  simple 
substance  so  far  as  we  know.  Indeed  it  was  one  of 
the  triumphs  of  chemistry  to  discover  that  water  is  a 
compound.  It  is  this  characteristic  of  acting  to- 
gether that  is  the  essence  of  a  fusion  of  atoms. 

The  molecules  of  water  are  destructible.  The 
hydrogen  and  oxygen  atoms  of  which  they  are  a 
fusion  have  not  lost  their  qualities,  though  they  act 
less  freely  than  when  separate.  If  now  a  bit  of  sodium 
be  thrown  upon  the  water  molecules,  the  oxygen  and 
hydrogen  atoms  at  once  unite  with  it,  forming  a 
new  fusion,  sodium-hydroxid,  and  setting  free  a 
certain  amount  of  hydrogen  not  needed  in  the  new 
fusion. 

Here  two  things  are  to  be  noted :  First,  that  when 
the  water  is  decomposed  it  is  absolutely  destroyed — 
it  is  no  longer  water.  This  is  a  quality  of  all  fusions. 
Secondly,  that  the  formation  of  the  sodium-hydroxid 
is  selective,  the  unnecessary  hydrogen  being  thrown 


26  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

off.  A  fusion,  if  freely  made,  contains  no  impurities, 
nothing  alien  to  its  make-up. 

Molecules  differ  from  the  next  higher  units  of 
fusion  in  this,  that  they  are  too  small  to  be  visible. 
Certain  qualities  they  no  doubt  possess  which  would 
be  of  the  greatest  interest  if  we  could  know  them, 
but  which  are  hidden  by  their  invisibility.  It  is 
necessary  that  we  should  examine  the  higher  units 
to  get  some  idea  of  these  things,  and  this  we  will 
now  do.  The  next  higher  units  are  the  crystals  and 
the  unicellular  plants  and  animals. 

The  crystals  and  the  protozoic  plants  or  animals 
have  plainly  certain  points  in  common.  They  are 
both  composed  of  molecules;  both  are  formed  only 
under  favorable  conditions;  both,  no  doubt,  mean  a 
change  in  the  potential  forces  of  the  molecules  which 
unite,  since  the  molecules  in  uniting  give  up  some 
of  their  ordinary  freedom  of  action;  both  are  true 
units  and  act  together  or  are  destroyed  (the  crystal 
is  not  a  superficial  unit  but  a  real  one);  both  may  be 
destroyed,  and  if  destroyed  cease  to  exist,  though 
parts  may  exist;  and,  finally,  both  are  pure  and  do 
not  assimilate  substances  that  have  no  place  in  them 
(the  crystals  of  salt  water  or  of  any  other  mixture  are 
not  crystals  of  the  mixture  but  are  pure).  They  are 
thus  true  fusions. 

The  force  which  unites  molecules  into  the  fused 
units  of  this  class  is  called  by  the  inclusive  name  of 
cohesion.  Cohesion  may  be  destroyed  by  ordinary 
physical  means,  so  that  the  units  we  are  considering 
may  be  destroyed  more  easily  than  those  of  the  lower 


FUSION  27 

classes.  A  hammer-blow  will  end  a  crystal  or  a 
protozoon.  They  may  also  be  destroyed  by  de- 
stroying the  molecules  of  which  they  are  composed. 
Chemical  laws  affect  them  thus  indirectly.1 

An  evident  characteristic  of  both  crystals  and  living 
matter  is  their  definite  forms  under  definite  condi- 
tions. A  given  substance  may  crystallize  differently 
under  different  circumstances,  and  a  living  thing 
may  change  its  form  (since,  from  its  structure,  it 
is  able  to),  under  changed  conditions.  In  a  given 
situation,  however,  definite  forms  occur  according 
to  law.  And  these  forms  are  characteristic.  Each 
substance  has  its  special  form  or  forms,  not  merely 
in  size  but  also  in  angles;  and  each  living  substance 
has  its  special  forms.  M.  Dastre  formulates  this 
rule  as  follows:  "A  given  substance  in  identical 
conditions  of  environment  results  invariably  in  a 
certain  form."  "We  may  consider  this  as  a  sort 
of  principle  of  nature,  or  elementary  law,  which  may 
serve  as  a  point  of  departure  in  explaining  phe- 
nomena." 

A  further  phase  of  this  fact  is  seen  in  the  phenome- 
non called  regeneration.  If  a  part  of  a  crystal  or  of 
a  unicellular  plant  or  animal  be  broken  or  cut  off, 
the  part  is  repaired  and  the  unit  resumes  its  char- 
acteristic shape.  The  method  of  repair  differs.  In 
crystals  the  hurt  part  merely  grows  more  rapidly 
than  the  other  parts;  and  the  hurt  surface  has  less 

1  A  full  and  interesting  discussion  of  the  further  bearings  of  this 
question  may  be  found  in  an  article  by  A.  Dastre,  "La  Vie  de  la 
Matiere,"  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  October  15,  1902,  from 
which  some  of  the  following  facts  are  gathered. 


28  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

solubility,  so  that  it  resists  this  form  of  destruction 
more  than  the  rest  of  the  crystal.  In  plants  and 
animals  the  recovery  of  form  is  sometimes  by  growth 
merely  in  the  affected  part,  sometimes  by  a  change  in 
the  form  of  the  whole  remaining  organism.  "If 
Stentor  ccerulius  is  cut  in  two  pieces  each  piece  makes 
a  new  individual  of  half  size  but  of  proportionate 
form."1  Evidently  in  this  latter  case  the  posi- 
tion of  a  given  molecule  is  determined  not  by  its 
chemical  constituents  chiefly,  but  by  the  organism  as 
a  whole.  And  in  the  broken  crystal  the  proportionate 
growth  is  apparently  decided  also,  not  by  the  exposed 
surface  merely,  since  there  is  no  difference  between 
the  inner  molecules  and  those  on  the  surface  (all 
were  on  the  surface  once),  but  by  the  crystal  as  a 
whole.  This  is  a  very  important  principle  and  is 
perhaps  at  the  bottom  of  all  regeneration.  Professor 
Morgan  is  inclined  to  think  so.  He  says,  "The 
properties  of  the  organism  are  connected  with  its 
whole  organization  and  are  not  simply  those  of  its 
individual  cells  or  lower  units"  (" Regeneration,"  p. 
279);  and  again,  "It  has  been  shown  that  a  change 
in  one  part  takes  place  in  relation  to  all  other  parts, 
and  it  is  this  interconnection  of  the  parts  that  is  one 
of  the  chief  peculiarities  of  the  organism.  In  phe- 
nomena of  this  kind  the  cells  seem  to  play  a  secondary 
part"  (p.  278).  He  is  here  speaking  of  multicellular 
plants  and  animals,  but  the  opinion  would  apply 
equally  to  the  unicellular. 

Another  characteristic  of  crystals  and  unicellulars 

'T.  H.  Morgan,  "Regeneration,"  p.  14. 


"FUSION  29 

is  that  they  are  not  composed  of  a  given  number  of 
units  of  the  lower  order,  at  once  combined  into  a 
perfect  new  unit.  They  grow — either  by  exterior 
accumulations  (in  the  crystal),  or  by  increase 
throughout  (in  plants  and  animals).  The  method  of 
growth  is  characteristic  but  is  not  apparently  different 
in  principle.  Growth  in  either  case  is  a  matter  of 
assimilation  of  foreign  matter,  and  means  that  there 
is  a  region  round  about  the  crystal  and  plant  or 
animal  within  which  the  unit  has  a  distinct  influence, 
attracting  and  controlling  such  particles  as  it  desires, 
and,  apparently,  repelling  others. 

The  result  in  both  cases  is  ultimately  reproduction; 
crystals  reproducing  outside  of  themselves,  unicellu- 
lar plants  and  animals  growing  large  and  dividing 
into  two  or  more  parts.  Among  crystals  a  curious 
case  out  of  many  is  that  of  glycerin: 

"  We  do  not  know  under  what  conditions  glycerin 
may  crystallize  spontaneously.  If  it  is  cooled  it 
becomes  viscid;  it  cannot  be  obtained  in  crystals 
in  that  manner.  It  was  not  secured  in  crystals  in 
any  other  manner  either  prior  to  the  year  1867. 
That  year  glycerin  was  found  crystallized  in  a  barrel 
sent  in  the  winter  from  Vienna  to  London,  and 
Crookes  showed  these  crystals  to  the  Chemical  Society 
of  London.  What  circumstances  determined  their 
formation  ?  It  was  not  known  then;  it  is  hardly 
suspected  now.  It  was  a  case  of  spontaneous  gen- 
eration. 

"Those  individual  crystals  of  1867  have  had  a 
posterity.  They  have  been  scattered  over  glycerin 


30  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

in  a  state  of  surfusion  and  they  have  reproduced 
themselves.  These  reproductions  have  been  numer- 
ous enough  for  the  species  to  spread  over  a  great 
part  of  Europe.  To-day  the  large  manufactory  of 
Sarg  &  Co.,  of  Vienna,  is  carrying  on  their  breeding 
on  a  large  scale  as  an  industry."1 

In  the  case  of  animals  and  plants  the  cell  by  some 
inevitable  process  of  its  growth  divides  into  two  or 
more  spheres  of  influence,  which  operation,  once 
begun,  results  ultimately  in  two  or  more  plants  or 
animals.  This  operation  may  be  brought  about  by 
starvation  or  the  weakening  of  the  organism,  but  it 
is  equally  inevitable  in  the  well-fed  and  thriving  cell. 

The  most  evident  differences  between  living  and 
dead  matter  are  these:  i.  Living  matter  is  far  more 
affected  by  external  forces.  It  is,  chemically,  a  very 
unstable  compound.  2.  The  fused  forms  of  living 
matter  are  so  loosely  put  together  that  they  can  and 
do  constantly  assume  new  shapes  in  response  to 
external  forces.  Crystals  do  not  do  this.  3.  Living 
matter,  as  it  is  very  unstable,  so  is  constantly  decom- 
posing and  constantly  being  renewed. 

These  characteristics  are  found  only  in  living 
matter,  but  all  are  easily  conceivable  in  matter  as 
matter.  Only  the  last  need  detain  us  here.  The 
constant  decomposition  and  building  up  of  living 
matter  is,  indeed,  connected  with  the  two  other 
qualities,  namely,  the  unstable  nature  of  the  molecules 
and  the  frequent  changes  in  shape  of  the  living  unit. 
It  is  inevitable  that  in  a  changing  environment  such  a 

1  See  the  above-mentioned  article  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes. 


FUSION  31 

unit  should  be  constantly  losing  its  purity  and  per- 
fection. But  as  the  cell  has  the  power  to  select  its 
molecules  from  a  mixture, 'it  is  not  hard  to  under- 
stand that,  when  these  molecules  become  decom- 
posed, it  should  have  the  power  to  throw  them  off 
and  to  assimilate  new  ones  to  enable  it  to  regain  more 
nearly  its  purity  and  perfection.  The  semi-fluid 
nature  of  the  unit  is  what  makes  this  practicable. 
The  process  is  no  doubt  an  intricate  one,  but  the 
principle  of  the  action  is  not  difficult  to  grasp. 

This  brings  us  to  our  final  point  regarding  the  uni- 
cellular organism.  The  simplest  forms  of  the  plant 
and  animal,  like  the  crystal,  seem  to  have  been  a 
fused  unit  made  up  of  precisely  similar  molecules. 
But  the  animal  and  plant  are  commonly  found  to  be 
made  up  of  molecules  that  are  not  exactly  alike. 
Just  what  the  differences  between  them  are,  may 
perhaps  never  be  known,  but  the  principle  by  which 
this  occurs  is  not  hard  to  surmise.  It  is  a  possibility 
resulting  from  the  fused  condition  of  the  cell.  Certain 
molecules  which  could  not  exist  alone  may  exist 
when  in  a  state  of  fusion,  because  of  the  support 
they  receive  from  the  other  molecules  with  which  they 
form  a  unit.  The  balance  of  the  cell  as  a  whole  is 
kept  up,  but  the  molecules  vary  off  from  the  type. 
It  is  evident  that  such  balanced  units  would  be  differ- 
ent in  character  from  homogeneous  ones;  that  they 
would  be  more  complex  in  character;  that  they  would 
offer  possibilities  of  almost  unlimited  variations. 
The  differences  in  character  would  also,  evidently, 
show  themselves  in  differences  in  form.  And  this 


32  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

is  found  to  be  the  fact,  for,  whereas  the  cells  that  are 
homogeneous  or  nearly  so,  take  only  the  most  simple 
forms — most  often  spherical — the  non-homogeneous 
ones  are  almost  unlimitedly  variant  in  shape.  The 
ones  that  nature  has  selected  to  survive  regularly 
have  distinct  layers  of  molecules  so  as  to  bring  about 
a  division  of  labor.  The  outer  ones  are  less  sensitive 
and  form  a  membrane,  perhaps  with  appendages; 
the  inner  ones  more  sensitive  and  forming  a  nucleus 
which  may  seem  to  have  very  distinct  influences  over 
the  cell  and  its  fate.  Thus  the  unit  may  be  very 
complex  and  the  molecules  very  dependent  upon  each 
other.  Such  a  cell  because  of  its  small  size,  utterly 
defies  our  present  chemical  resources  for  investiga- 
tion. It  does  not,  however,  utterly  defy  our  reason. 
The  method  of  assimilation  in  such  a  cell,  it  may  be 
noticed,  would  of  necessity  be  more  complex  than 
in  the  simpler  homogeneous  organism.  The  mole- 
cules of  the  surface  would  assimilate  from  the  external 
world,  while  the  dependent  inner  layers  would  as- 
similate at  second  hand. 

We  come,  lastly,  to  the  multicellular  plants  and 
animals.  Here  we  shall  consider  particularly  the 
animals,  the  application  to  plants  being  easily  made. 

The  simplest  forms  of  the  multicellular  organism 
are  apparently  mere  collections  of  unicellular  ones — 
clusters  originating  from  a  single  cell.  These  cells 
are  apparently  alike,  and  in  some  cases  there  may  be 
doubt  whether  they  are  a  fusion  or  merely  a  collec- 
tion. In  cases,  however,  where  the  fusion  is  certain, 
as  in  Volvox  among  the  plants,  we  find  the  traits  are 


FUSION  33 

as  they  were  in  the  lower  fusion.  The  individual 
animals  or  plants  give  up  their  normal  freedom  and 
act  as  a  unit;  the  fused  unit  has  a  definite  specific 
form  (in  the  simple  Volvox,  spherical);  the  fused  unit 
has  the  power  of  regeneration,  /.  e.,  will  repair  waste 
or  injury  and  preserve  its  characteristic  shape;  it  is 
affected  as  a  whole  by  external  forces;  it  may  change 
its  shape  as  a  whole. 

A  notable  fact  about  it,  as  showing  that  nature  is 
reaching  her  limits,  is  the  character  of  its  reproduc- 
tion and  of  its  waste  and  repair.  Volvox  reproduces 
itself  regularly,  not  by  division  of  itself,  but  by  the 
division  of  one  of  its  constituent  cells.  The  single 
cell  thus  thrown  off  multiplies  and  produces  a  new 
colony  or  fusion,  which  is  a  complete  Volvox.  As 
is  well  known,  the  bodies  of  all  animals,  including 
man,  may  originate  in  this  same  way.  Waste  and 
repair  also  take  place  in  the  individual  cells,  and  the 
unit  does  not  regularly  assimilate  or  take  in  new 
cells,  though  they  may  be  artificially  added  by 
grafting. 

A  remarkable  fact  in  Volvox  and  the  higher 
multicellular  animals  is  that  waste  and  repair  cannot 
go  on  indefinitely.  For  some  reason  the  chemical 
and  cell  reactions  weaken  after  a  time — as  if  there 
were  a  series,  a  regular  succession  of  conditions  in 
them,  and  never,  after  a  change,  a  strict  regenera- 
tion or  restoration  of  the  former  state.1  This  results 

1  So  far  as  the  analogy  is  of  value,  it  seems  not  impossible  that  the 
evolution  of  species  may  be  explained,  in  the  end,  as  having  this  law 
behind  it.  The  element  of  orderly  succession  in  evolution  is  cer- 
tainly not  imaginary. 


34  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ultimately  in  death,  as  it  is  called.  It  is  an  utter 
break-down  of  the  mulricellular  plant  or  animal 
unit.  The  whole  dies,  and  the  occurrence  is  a  clear 
proof  of  the  interdependence  and  unity  of  the  fusion. 
Traces  of  this  state  of  things  are  found  also  in  the 
unicellular  organisms,  but  there  is  said  to  be  no 
death  among  them  if  properly  fed  and  protected. 

In  the  higher  animals  fusion  soon  follows  the 
course  we  have  found  in  the  higher  protozoa.  The 
cells  are  then  no  longer  alike,  but  become  such  as 
could  not  possibly  live  outside  the  body  in  which 
they  are  produced.  The  mutual  support  of  the  unit 
makes  this  possible;  and  it  is  carried  to  great  lengths. 
From  Volvox  and  its  like  to  man  is  an  astounding 
development. 

But  although  we  consider  Volvox  and  man  as 
fusions  of  the  same  grade,  there  is  a  different  sort  of 
unity  within  them.  Quite  low  in  the  scale  it  appears 
that  though  animal  bodies  are  a  unit,  there  is  some- 
thing like  local  unity  as  well  as  unity  of  the  whole. 
Certain  parts  of  the  body,  indeed,  are  (while  under 
the  higher  unity)  partially  independent.  This  be- 
comes clear  in  the  experiments  made  in  research 
upon  regeneration.  If  a  Planarian  be  divided 
through  the  head,  the  separated  head-piece  will 
regenerate  at  its  posterior  end,  not  a  body  but  another 
head.  Evidently  the  head  does  not  fully  imply  the 
rest  of  the  body.  It  is  a  son  of  unit  in  itself.  So  if 
the  tail  of  an  earthworm  be  cut  off  very  near  the  rip, 
it  will  regenerate  at  its  anterior  end  not  a  body,  but 
another  tail.  In  each  of  these  animals,  however,  a 


FUSION  35 

larger  piece  of  the  body  will  regenerate  the  missing 
part.  The  planarian  body  will  regenerate  a  head; 
the  earthworm  body  a  tail.  Any  considerable  part 
of  either  animal  will  regenerate  all  the  severed  parts 
correctly.  On  the  whole,  the  unity  of  these  animals 
is  pretty  complete. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  any  considerable  part  of 
an  animal  of  the  higher  types  is  cut  off,  the  local  unit 
is  likely  to  be  entirely  lost.  If  a  young  frog  have  its 
foot  cut  off,  it  regenerates  a  new  foot,  but  if  the  leg 
be  cut  off  above  the  knee,  the  wound  merely  heals 
over.  Evidently  the  unit  of  the  lower  leg  ends  at 
about  the  knee.  In  the  mature  animal  this  unit 
seems  to  have  grown  even  smaller,  and  the  parts 
more  specialized,  for  the  mature  frog  will  not  re- 
generate even  the  foot.  If  this  is  well  reasoned,  the 
perfect  local  units  in  the  highest  animals  must  be 
quite  small,  since  no  considerable  wound  in  them 
will  be  regenerated,  or  even  heal  over.  However, 
after  the  perfect  local  unity  has  ceased,  a  partial 
local  unity  still  often  remains,  as  is  shown  by  a  unity 
of  function  in  the  cells.  The  liver  and  heart,  for 
instance,  are  local  fusions,  though  they  have  little 
power  of  regeneration.  The  cells  of  which  they  are 
composed  act  together.  • 

It  might  be  supposed  that  the  existence  of  local 
units  would  lead  us  to  assume  that  the  higher  animals 
are  fusions  of  a  grade  above  Volvox.  The  objection 
to  such  an  assumption  is  partly  historical  and  partly 
anatomical.  The  body  was  not  formed  from  these 
units,  and  it  is  not  possible  to  distinguish  them  as 


36  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

definite  entities.  They  are  rather  the  inevitable 
partial  fusions  brought  about  by  the  increased  size 
and  differentiation  of  the  body. 

Of  all  the  local  fusions  in  the  higher  animals  and 
man,  the  most  important  is  doubtless  that  collection 
of  cells  called  the  nervous  system.  These  cells  are 
located  chiefly  in  the  skull,  but  they  extend  out  into 
all  parts  of  the  body,  certain  ones  of  them  having  a 
long  wire-like  shape  that  enables  them  to  lie  at  the 
same  time  in  the  skull  and  in  other  parts,  such  as  the 
spinal  column.  Moreover,  these  cells  may  connect 
with  others  so  as  to  reach,  finally,  the  farthest  extremi- 
ties, such  as  the  hands  and  the  feet.  The  cells  of  this 
system  are  specialized  to  be  sensitive  chiefly  to  ex- 
ternal forces — light,  heat,  pressure,  etc. — and  to  re- 
spond to  them  suitably.  The  other  cells  of  the  body 
are  comparatively  insensitive,  or  are  so  formed  and 
placed  that  they  respond  to  influence,  for  the  most 
part,  only  at  second  hand,  after  the  more  sensitive 
cells  have  communicated  their  sensitiveness  to  them. 
Muscles,  for  instance,  change  their  shapes  usually  at 
the  instance  of  the  nerves.  The  fusion  of  the  nervous 
system  is  thus  of  the  utmost  consequence  in  perfecting 
the  interconnection  of  the  body  unit  so  far  as  it  is 
concerned  with  the  external  world.  Within  the 
body  the  influence  of  this  system  is  distinctly  less, 
and  it  falls  into  place  as  merely  a  part  of  the  larger 
unit.  Much  of  the  body  is  quite  out  of  the  sphere  of 
its  sensitiveness,  and  it  is  as  much  subject  as  any  other 
part  to  the  sum  total  of  the  body  in  matters  of  growth, 
form,  nourishment,  and  general  mental  traits. 


FUSION  37 

Of  the  constitution  of  the  brain  we  are  largely  igno- 
rant. It  is  believed,  however,  that  each  cell  may 
have  its  special  duties,  and  that  those  having  similar 
or  the  same  duties  lie  adjacent  to  each  other.  There 
are  also  many  connecting  cells,  bringing  into  still 
closer  union  the  different  parts  of  the  unit.  We  may 
believe  that  under  the  larger  fusion  of  the  whole 
brain,  there  are  local  fusions  of  various  sorts  and 
degrees.  If  it  be  asked  whether  the  fusion  of  the 
brain  is  not  mediate,  i.  e.y  does  not  take  place  in 
some  one  cell,  we  reply  that  it  is  admittedly  certain 
that  this  is  not  the  case,  though  some  of  the  more 
local  fusions  in  it  may  take  place  so.  Fusion  in  some 
one  of  the  component  units,  it  may  be  noted,  is  con- 
trary to  the  analogies  of  the  lower  fusions,  though  of 
course  not  an  impossible  state  in  fused  units.  The 
locus  of  a  fusion  seems  regularly  throughout  all  the 
fused  elements,  and  in  spite  of  subfusions,  this  seems 
to  be  the  case  in  the  brain.  It  acts  as  a  unit — a  real 
fused  oneness — not  a  united  group  of  units  with  an 
overlording  cell. 

Having  thus  stated  our  theory  of  fusions,  it  is  now 
our  purpose  to  take  up  the  phenomena  from  the  in- 
side. The  statement  of  our  position  is  simple. 
Mental  fusions  take  place;  a  mental  fusion  is  a  phy- 
sical fusion  as  it  is  to  itself;  conversely,  a  physical 
fusion  is  a  mental  fusion  viewed  from  the  outside. 
We  thus  assume  that  wherever  the  one  is,  the  other 
must  be;  and  we  will  accordingly  give  evidence  for 
our  belief,  in  man  and  afterward  in  the  animals,  but 


38  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

will  then  suppose  a  similar  state  of  things  in  the  atoms 
and  molecules. 

We  begin  then  with  man.  There  can  hardly  be  a 
denial  of  the  statement  that  fusion  takes  place  in  the 
mental  side  of  the  human  brain.  Our  minds  are 
essentially  units.  Whether  a  sensation  reaches  the 
brain  by  a  nerve  from  the  hand  or  from  the  foot  or 
from  the  eye  or  the  ear,  the  same  mind  feels  it.  Now 
it  is  known  that  these  different  sensations  arrive 
each  in  its  own  part  of  the  brain;  the  destruction 
of  one  part  or  another  destroys  one  or  another  power 
of  sensation  and  thought.  Therefore,  since  it  is 
known  that  there  is  no  single  cell,  or  group  of  cells, 
in  which  the  mind  may  be  said  to  reside,  we  are  led 
inevitably  to  believe  that  the  locus  of  the  mind  as  a 
whole  is  a  considerable  number  of  cells  in  the  brain, 
if  not  the  brain  as  a  whole.  The  various  identifiable 
parts  of  the  mind  in  the  brain  seem  to  fuse  into  one 
mind  in  the  whole  brain,  and  until  further  evidence 
is  forthcoming  we  shall  consider  that  this  is  the  fact. 
The  mind  is  a  fusion  of  the  mind  of  the  cells  of  which 
it  is  composed. 

This  fusion  theory  is  not  a  new  one,  but  was  pro- 
posed many  years  ago  and  has  met  with  vigorous 
rejection  at  the  hands  of  most  psychologists.  The 
objection  to  it  seems  to  be  partly  religious  but  also 
partly  intellectual.  It  is  urged  against  it  that  it  is 
incomprehensible  and  therefore  false.  It  is  said  that 
two  or  more  things  cannot  unite  except  in  a  third; 
that  to  speak  of  the  mind  as  resident  throughout  the 
cells  of  the  brain  is  like  speaking  of  a  mind  in  a  mob. 


FUSION  39 

One  man  may  represent  a  mob,  but  a  mob  cannot 
have  one  mind.  This  objection  has  certainly  some 
validity.  An  axiom  that  the  mind  rebels  at  is  an 
unsatisfactory,  not  to  say  a  dangerous,  thing  for 
knowledge  to  rest  on.  We  must  therefore  make 
more  clear  what  we  mean  by  the  locus  of  the  mind, 
though  any  statement  must  be  subject  to  alterations 
as  the  knowledge  of  the  physical  brain  becomes  more 
exact.  A  conceivable  state  of  things  is,  however, 
not  hard  to  make  clear. 

We  accept  the  comparison  to  a  mob,  and  though  we 
shall  speak  only  of  the  brain,  the  mob  may  be  held 
in  mind.  The  brain  is  not  merely  a  collection  of 
cells,  it  is  that  and  something  more;  for  it  not  only 
holds  together  in  space,  but — and  this  is  of  even 
more  importance — each  cell  of  the  brain,  or,  if  we 
choose,  each  chief  cell,  is  affected  by  every  other  cell 
or  chief  cell.  Thus,  each  feels  not  only  its  own 
sensations,  but  to  some  extent  also  the  sensations  of 
all  the  other  cells.  In  other  words,  each  cell  is  a 
representative  of  the  whole  mind — of  its  sensations, 
desires,  and  memories — each,  however,  with  its  own 
proper  sensations,  desires,  and  memories — and  these 
usually  stronger  than  those  it  has  through  sympathy. 
There  is  evidence,  also,  to  show  that  all  cells  are  not 
sympathetic  to  all  feelings,  though  in  any  particular 
instance  a  considerable  number  probably  are.  If, 
now,  the  focus  of  consciousness  were  to  shift  in  space 
from  one  of  the  perfectly  sympathetic  cells  to  another, 
the  mind  would  still  be  the  same,  /.  e.,  a  sum  of  what 
was  going  on  in  all  the  cells,  though  it  would  differ 


40  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

in  the  vividness  and  proportion  of  the  elements  of  it. 
This  may  pass  as  a  description  of  what  actually  takes 
place,  and  we  may  suppose  that  something  of  the  sort 
will  some  day  be  shown  to  be  the  fact,  namely,  that  the 
locus  of  the  mind  is  the  brain,  and  to  some  extent 
the  whole  body,  but  that  the  focus,  /.  ^.,  the  "leader 
of  the  mob,"  may  be  any  one  of  a  large  number  of 
perfectly  sympathetic  cells,  and  is  sometimes  one  and 
sometimes  another. 

If  this  method  of  reasoning  is  pushed,  it  is  plain 
that  the  focus  must  finally  be  identified  with  an  atom, 
or  less — which  we  are  willing  to  admit.  There  is  no 
evident  additional  difficulty. 

If  mental  fusions  in  man  be  granted,  those  in  the 
higher  animals  follow.  There  is  no  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  the  state  of  things  is  different  in  them. 
Their  senses,  feelings,  and  nervous  systems  are 
evidently  like  ours;  their  acts  are  those  of  units. 
The  fusion  that  takes  place  in  the  mind  of  man 
just  as  certainly  takes  place  in  theirs. 

In  the  lower  animals  and  in  the  unicellular  animals 
and  plants  there  are  also  actions  which  are  reason- 
ably taken  to  betray  senses  and  feelings  to  be  found 
in  man.  Hunger  and  some  sex  seem  certainly  to  be 
present.  These  lower  and  protoplasmic  forms  also 
act  as  units.  We  will  believe  then  that  the  lower 
animals  are  true  mental  fusions  of  the  cell-minds; 
and  that  the  unicellular  animals  and  plants  are  true 
mental  fusions  of  the  molecular  mental  constituents 
in  them. 

The  detailed  consideration  of  these,  and  of  the 


FUSION  41 

atomic  and  molecular  minds,  we  will  take  up  in  the 
next  chapter.  For  the  present  we  wish  to  consider 
merely  the  higher  forms  and  to  make  our  position 
clear. 

Let  us  return  then  to  the  consideration  of  the 
human  mind  and  the  minds  of  all  animals  having  a 
nervous  system.  So  far  we  have  spoken  only  of  the 
mind  in  the  nervous  system,  of  which  we  have  held 
that  it  is  a  fused  unit.  If,  however,  our  theory  is 
true,  there  must  be  a  mind  not  only  of  the  part  of  the 
body,  but  also  of  the  body  as  a  whole.  This  mind  we 
shall  call  the  body-mind.  It  is  to  be  thought  of  as 
including  the  nervous-system  mind,  which  is  a  part 
of  it  and  is  controlled  by  it,  as  is  every  other  local 
fusion  in  the  body. 

That  there  is  a  physical  unity  of  the  body  upon 
which  we  may  rest  our  assumption  of  a  body-mind, 
is  beginning  to  be  recognized  by  the  students  of 
morphology  and  regeneration.  We  have  already 
quoted  Professor  Morgan's  utterances  upon  this 
point,  and  have  noted  the  striking  case  of  Stentor, 
which,  if  cut  in  two,  regenerates  into  two  individuals, 
each  of  half  the  size  of  the  original  one.  Evidently,  in 
this  case,  the  position  of  any  part  of  the  body  is  de- 
termined by  the  material  as  a  whole,  since  each  half, 
without  any  apparent  change  of  material,  moulds 
itself  into  the  characteristic  shape. 

But  it  will  be  objected  that,  if  there  is  a  body-mind 
in  man  we  ought  to  be  conscious  of  it.  If  there  is  a 
mind  that  includes  the  whole  body,  how  is  it  that  we 
do  not  know  all  that  goes  on  in  the  body  ?  What, 


42  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

in  short,  is  the  evidence  that  any  such  thing  as  the 
body-mind  really  exists  ?  These  questions  require 
the  most  careful  consideration,  for,  until  they  are 
answered,  our  theory  cannot  claim  acceptance — 
though,  it  is  to  be  remembered,  it  may  be  true. 

We  return  first  of  all  to  our  conception  of  a  mind- 
fusion.  A  mind-fusion  takes  place  when,  and  in  so 
far  as,  each  cell  is  affected  sympathetically  by  all  the 
other  cells.  It  is  clear  then  that  the  body-mind  could 
consist  only  of  those  mental  elements  which  all  of  its 
cells  could  sympathize  with.  If,  however,  we  con- 
sidered any  one  cell,  there  would  be  in  it  with  the 
emotions  of  the  body-mind  also  the  special  emotions 
native  to  the  cell,  and  perhaps  some  of  local  synv 
pathy,  /.  ^.,  not  common  to  the  whole  body. 

Now  the  body,  as  we  have  noticed  before,  is  highly 
specialized,  and,  in  consequence,  full  of  local  fusions, 
/.  e.,  of  collections  of  cells  having  special  emotions 
to  which  the  rest  of  the  body  is  comparatively  or 
entirely  non-sensitive.  The  body-mind,  then,  would 
not  include  these  special  emotions,  but  only  the  ones 
common  to  all  cells.  We  should  not  expect  it  to  be 
clear  about  what  goes  on  exclusively  in  the  liver  or 
the  pancreas  or  the  heart  or  the  brain.  Its  emotions 
must  be  more  general  and  fundamental. 

But  the  questions  we  have  put  are  special  ones, 
viz.,  of  the  relation  of  the  body-mind  to  consciousness. 
Consciousness,  as  we  shall  see,  depends  upon  mem- 
ory, and  is  a  special  condition  of  the  memory  cells, 
which  are  exclusively  those  of  the  brain.  If,  then, 
we  are  to  observe  the  body-mind  in  the  conscious 


FUSION  43 

mind,  we  must  observe  and  examine  the  brain.  In 
the  brain  there  will  be,  as  noted  above,  (i)  the  body- 
mind  and  (2)  with  it  the  special  powers  and  emotions 
of  the  organ,  /.  ^.,  the  special  powers  and  emotions  of 
the  brain  as  a  collection  of  specialized  cells.  The 
body-mind,  then,  is  to  be  discovered  by  discarding 
all  the  special  powers  and  emotions  of  the  brain;  the 
residue  will  be  found  to  have  its  locus  not  merely 
in  the  brain  but  in  the  whole  body. 

This  is  not  so  difficult  an  operation  as  it  may  at 
first  seem,  although  we  cannot  at  present  hope  to 
conduct  it  systematically  and  exhaustively.  It  must 
suffice  to  show  the  method  of  inquiry,  and  to  give 
an  instance  or  two  of  the  emotions  in  question. 

We  discard,  then,  memory,  reason,  consciousness,  V 
sight,  hearing,  taste,  touch,  smell,  and  the  sense  of 
heat  (in  their  ordinary  clear  senses),  as  being  special 
to  the  brain.  So,  also,  we  must  discard  the  special 
influence  the  brain  has  on  the  muscles.  The  body- 
mind  can  have  none  of  these. 

There  remain  the  emotions  and  desires  of  the  body- 
mind.  Of  these  we  will  mention  three:  I.  The 
sense  of  health  and  well-being,  with  its  focus  often, 
apparently,  in  the  intestines,  liver,  etc.  2.  The  feel- 
ing of  affectionate  desire,  with  its  focus  often  in  the 
sex  cells.  3.  The  feeling  of  loneliness,  apparently 
without  special  focus.  These  and  many  similar  de- 
sires and  feelings  we  conceive  of  as  being  those  of  the 
body-mind,  and  as  existing  not  only  in  the  brain  but 
in  the  whole  body. 

Let  us  consider  a  special  case,  and,  as  feelings  are 


44  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

more  demonstrative  in  their  negative  forms,  let  us 
choose  a  negative  feeling,  bodily  fear,  which,  as  we 
shall  see,  may  be  a  negative  of  the  sense  of  well- 
being,  and  let  us  take  an  extreme  case. 

In  the  case  of  extreme  bodily  fear,  we  find  as 
symptoms,  the  irregular  action  of  the  heart  and  lungs, 
vomiting,  and  the  opening  of  the  intestines  and 
bladder,  spasmodic  action  of  all  the  muscles,  goose- 
flesh  of  the  skin,  blindness  of  the  eyes,  ringing  of  the 
ears,  refusal  of  the  brain  to  fuse  —  in  short,  the 
affection  of  every  part  of  the  body,  and  very  notice- 
ably of  those  parts  over  which  the  brain  has  no  direct 
control.  The  fact  that  such  fear  may  begin  in  the 
brain,  or  that  it  spreads  through  the  body  along  the 
nerves,  does  not  alter  the  force  of  our  argument, 
for  we  hold  expressly  that  nothing  mental  goes  on  in 
the  body  without  its  corresponding  physical  phenom- 
ena; and  body  emotions  will  regularly  begin  at 
some  one  point  or  other  and  spread  out  sympathet- 
ically from  it.  Moreover,  this  will  require  a  per- 
ceptible time  and  means  within  the  field  of  physics. 

Physical  fear,  then,  is  regularly  a  feeling  of  the 
whole  body,  /.  e.,  of  the  body-mind,  and  not  a  matter 
of  the  brain  alone.  Similar  evidence  might  easily  be 
given  in  the  cases  of  love  and  loneliness  and  other 


,J  feelings.     They   are   in    consciousness    because   the 

conscious  mind  is  part  of  the  body-mind. 

Notice,  however,  that  as  a  part  of  the  body-mind, 

l^i^iXithe  brain  may  have  a  real  influence  to  control  as  well 
as  to  cause  emotions  in  the  larger  unit.  A  reasoning 
mind  may  overcome,  or  at  least  moderate,  physical 


fear;  and  an  artificially  induced  feeling  of  well- 
being  in  the  brain  may  be  sufficient  to  decide  the 
outcome  of  a  disease,  and  to  effect  cures  that  seem 
miraculous — this,  of  course,  being  made  possible 
through  the  sympathy  of  the  parts,  and  not  by  any; 
direct  and  specially  cerebral  control.  (J[/jijClU^^(A^ 

It  may  occur  to  some  reader  to  object  that  if  the 
body-mind  includes  the  body,  it  should  contain  a 
thought  of  its  shape — that  we  should  know  in- 
tuitively that  we  have  arms,  legs,  etc.  This  matter 
also  will  become  clearer  as  we  proceed,  but  it  may  be 
sufficient  to  notice  that  the  mind  knows  nothing  of 
matter  except  through  experience,  and  that  this  ex- 
perience is  obtained  only  by  the  brain,  not  by  the 
body-mind. 

On  the  question  of  the  adaptation  (if  it  may  be 
called  so;  it  is,  as  we  hold,  unity)  of  body  and  mind 
to  each  other  in  individual  instances  among  the 
higher  animals,  there  can  be  but  one  opinion.  Body 
and  mind  are  regularly  absolutely  fitted,  the  one  to 
the  other.  We  may  notice  several  points  of  fitness: 

i.  In  all  animals  the  mind  is  able  to  use  the  body. 
The  bird  mind,  for  instance,  manages  the  bird  body, 
with  all  its  special  peculiarities  of  structure;  while 
the  human  mind  manages  the  human  body  with  its 
peculiarities.  Evidently  the  minds  in  these  two 
cases  must  be  very  different.  Yet  there  is  no  sign 
that  such  adaptations  are  the  result  of  natural  selec- 
tion. Strange  new  animals,  "sports,"  are  just  as 
fully  perfected  in  this  respect  as  the  oldest  species. 
The  unity  of  body  and  mind  is  the  regular  thing. 


46  A   THEORY   OF   MIND 

2.  The  mind  has  regularly  the  tastes  and  desires 
suited  to  it.     All  animals  have   the  taste  for  their 
proper   foods;     recognize   their   proper   mates;     and 
congregate,  if  at  all,  preferably  with  their  own  kind. 
This  again  is  not  a  result  of  natural  selection.     A 
new  variety  of  dogs,  cats,  sheep,  or  the  like,  will 
flock  and  mate  at  once  by  preference  with  its  own 
variety.     The  preference  goes  with  the  body. 

3.  The  general  instincts  of  animals  are  suited  to 
their   bodies.     The   swallow,   for   instance,   is    born 
with  weak  feet,  strong,  large  wings,  and  a  gaping 
mouth.     If  the  mind  were  independent  of  the  body, 
why  should  he  not  desire  to  wade  in  the  mud  and 
probe  for  worms  ?     And  why  should  not  the  heron 
fly  about  in  the  air  and  snap  at  flies  ?     Or  the  hum- 
ming-bird try  to  plunge  and  catch  fish  with  its  feet  ? 
Lamarckism,  as  is  well   known,  noticed   and  built 
upon  the  correspondence  of  the  bodies  and  instincts 
of  animals,  and  this  is  certainly  one  of  the  striking 
laws  in  nature,  for  there  is  no  evidence  of  any  real 
violation  of  it. 

It  is  even  noticeable  that  when  nature  repeats 
herself  in  instincts,  she  repeats  herself  also  in  forms. 
Swallows  and  swifts,  for  instance,  have  a  striking 
resemblance,  though  they  are  of  only  distant  kinship. 
The  swifts  are  of  a  strong-flying  relationship;  the 
swallows  belong  among  the  perching  birds;  their 
similarity  of  form  is  thus  plainly  connected  with  their 
similarity  of  instincts. 

The  explanation  of  the  correlation  of  the  parts  of 
the  animal  body  has  from  the  beginning  been  an 


FUSION  47 

insurmountable  difficulty  for  the  Darwinian  theory, 
and  has  only  of  late  become  somewhat  clearer,  and 
that  by  introducing  another  mystery,  individual 
adaptation;  the  explanation  of  the  correlation  of  the 
instincts  with  the  body,  however,  would  be  far  more 
difficult — though  it  is  so  easily  and  regularly  done 
by  nature.  Both  can  be  explained  on  the  assumption 
of  a  body-mind.  /The  body  is  thus  the  external  view 
of  a  oneness  of  mind,  which  for  want  of  a  better  word 
we  might  call  an  idea./  And  it  may  be  well  to  recall 
that  as  mind  is  local  in  time  and  space,  and  viewed 
from  the  outside  is  matter,  so  our  theory  holds  that 
the  animal  is  this  idea,  not  that  it  is  a  representation 
of  it — a  machine  made  according  to,  or  in  representa- 
tion of,  an  idea.  It  is  itself  its  mind.  This  matter 
will  of  course  come  up  again,  and  for  more  lengthy 
discussion. 

We  will  now  pass  to  an  examination  of  the  ele- 
ments of  mind. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND 

THE  consideration  of  the  mind  of  the  atom  and  the 
molecule  must  of  necessity  be  largely  a  theoretical 
matter.  Nevertheless  there  will  be  a  distinct  benefit 
to  our  theory  if  such  an  inquiry  can  be  satisfactorily 
accomplished.  We  shall  perceive  what  the  elements 
of  mind  really  are  and  what  the  derived  and  com- 
pound qualities  and  powers.  This  resolution  of 
mind  into  its  elements  is  indeed  the  most  important 
advance  that  can  be  made  in  psychology;  for  the 
mind  of  man  is  so  complex  that  our  researches  into 
its  nature  are  hopelessly  baffled  so  long  as  we  take 
it  to  be  an  indivisible  unit.  In  any  case  the  clews 
must  be  difficult  to  follow,  but  no  other  method 
holds  out  the  hope  of  a  rational  explanation. 

Moreover,  it  is  our  hope  that  by  tracing  the  mind 
through  its  lower  units  and  in  man,  we  may  arrive  at 
certain  general  facts  and  laws  concerning  it.  It  is 
not  our  purpose,  nor  does  it  seem  possible,  to  explain 
these;  they  must  be  ascribed  frankly  to  the  nature  of 
the  mind  and  left  so.  We  have  become  so  used  to 
the  magical  explanations  of  "natural  selection" 


48 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND  49 

that  it  is  sometimes  overlooked  that  natural  selection 
is  after  all  only  a  selection,  and  that  there  must  also 
be  an  explanation  of  the  forms  which  existed,  ready 
to  be  selected.  Natural  selection  may  be  compared 
to  a  circle  of  cliffs  or  barriers  within  the  circuit  of 
which  nature  produces  her  forms.  The  barriers 
hem  her  in,  but  they  produce  nothing.  She  produces, 
and  produces  according  to  her  nature  and  laws.  It 
is,  however;  the  study  of  her  nature  and  laws  that  we 
are  engaged  upon,  and  we  shall  scarcely  need  at  any 
time  to  call  to  our  aid  natural  selection  or  its  kindred 
much-misused  terms.  The  study  of  that  side  of  the 
world  is  a  science  in  itself. 

Our  expectation,  then,  is  that  our  study  of  the 
atoms  and  molecules  will  be  justified  by  the  resultant 
clarity  in  our  analysis  of  what  takes  place  in  the 
higher  forms  of  the  mind. 

THE    ATOM 

Evidently  the  perils  of  interpreting  the  atom  are 
two:  Either,  being  influenced  by  our  goal,  we  shall 
posit  too  much  and  make  the  atom  a  soul  in  miniature 
— whereas  it  should  be  an  element  of  the  human  mind 
in  the  same  sense  that  it  is  an  element  of  the  human 
body;  or,  being  influenced  by  the  physical  sciences, 
we  shall  posit  too  little  and  afterward  befog  ourselves 
into  a  development  of  much  from  almost  nothing. 

We  begin  with  our  facts.  Atoms  are  or  may  be 
sensitive  to  light,  heat,  electricity,  and  the  so-called 
chemical  forces.  This  sensitiveness  is  shown  by  their 
behavior,  for  under  such  influences  they  move  either 


50  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

toward  or  away  from  other  atoms,  and  if  they  move 
toward,  they  regularly  fuse  with  other  atoms  to  form 
molecules.  As  they  are  affected  by  other  atoms, 
so  they  also  affect  other  atoms,  such  affecting  being 
thought  of  as  regularly  mutual,  though  it  may  well 
be  stronger  on  one  side  than  on  the  other.  Moreover, 
in  an  act  effusion  force  is  liberated. 

It  is  now  our  duty  to  interpret  these  facts  in  terms 
of  mind.  For  our  purposes  we  shall  assume  that 
the  atom  is  a  simple  unit  and  not  a  fusion  of  lesser 
units.  There  will  probably  be  no  great  additional 
difficulties  if  in  future  the  more  elemental  units  be- 
come well  known. 

We  begin  then  with  our  suppositions: 

First.  The  atom  has  an  impulse  to  fuse  with  cer- 
tain other  atoms.  This  impulse  we  shall  call  the 
fusing  impulse.  By  it  is  not  to  be  understood  either 
a  thought  or  an  imagination.  It  is  rather  a  longing 
or  an  unsatisfied  feeling  which  proves  in  the  event  to 
be  satisfied  by  a  fusion.  The  atom  has  no  thoughts 
and  cannot  know  of  any  -other  atom.  At  the  same 
time,  although  the  impulse  is  without  thought -of  any 
kind,  it  can  be  satisfied  only  in  definite  ways,  and  is 
not  to  be  thought  of  as  indefinite  in  its  character. 
We  suppose,  also,  that  the  fusing  impulse  exists 
in  the  atom  in  advance  of  experience  with  other 
atoms.  This  seems  a  necessary  supposition. 

Again,  atoms  have  the  power  to  influence  other 
atoms,  and  are  subject  to  influences  from  other  atoms. 
This  influencing,  which  is  a  fact  of  supreme  im- 
portance in  the  development  of  matter  and  mind, 


THE   ELEMENTS   OF  MIND  51 

is  accomplished  by  the  setting  free  of  forces  in  the 

atom.     The  forces  are  light,  heat,  electricity,  and  the 

\    so-called  chemical  forces,  represented  by  the  word 

affinity.     The  freeing  of  them  is  not  conscious  or 

I  purposeful,  but  they  are  rather  to  be  thought  of  as 

set  free  impartially  in  all  directions  from  the  atom. 

As  for  the  mental  state  accompanying  this  liberation, 

we  suppose  that  it  is  merely  that  of  impulse  and  we 

propose  accordingly  this  axiom: 

I.  An  impulse  is  identical  with  a  setting  free  of 
force. 

Such  an  identification  cannot  be  proved,  for,  like 
the  identification  of  mind  with  matter,  the  two  terms 
of  it  belong  to  two  spheres  of  experience  that  have 
nothing  in  common.  The  identification  is  thus 
theoretical,  and  is  good  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  useful. 

Again,  the  atoms  absorb  the  forces  sent  out  by 
other  atoms  and  by  doing  so  become  ready  for  fusion. 
We  interpret  this  fact  as  meaning  that  the  impulses 
of  the  atoms  involved  become  complementary.  It 
is  clear  that  if  each  has  the  impulse  to  fuse  with  the 
other,  the  impulses  of  the  two  must  be  complementary 
though  practically  amounting  to  the  same  thing.  A 
has  the  impulse  that  may  be  called  "  fusion  with  B," 
while  B  has  the  impulse  that  may  be  called  "fusion 
with  A,"  but  the  two  impulses  are  for  the  union  of 
A  and  B.  This  general  relation  may  be  called  co- 
operation. We  make  then  this  statement: 

The  influence  emitted  in  an  impulse  is  such  as  to 
bring  about  a  complementary  impulse  in  a  suitable 
other  mind. 


52  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Nothing  in  nature  is  more  remarkable  than  this 
apparent  fact,  which  nevertheless  we  must  leave 
utterly  unexplained. 

The  susceptibility  to  influences  from  other  minds 
is  called  sensitiveness.  In  order  not  to  pass  it  we 
make  this  statement: 

Atomic  minds  are  sensitive  to  light,  heat,  elec- 
tricity, and  chemical  influences. 

Not  all  are  equally  sensitive  to  all  forces,  the  sus- 
ceptibility depending  apparently  upon  whether  they 
can  respond  to  the  impulse  emitting  them.  Stated 
conversely  this  means  that  the  forces  mentioned 
make  responsive  the  complementary  impulses  of  a 
suitably  sensitive  atomic  mind. 

How  atoms  accomplish  their  movements  in  space 
is  not  known.  It  would  seem  that  these  movements 
are  caused  ultimately  by  force  liberated  by  the  atoms. 
The  noticeable  fact  is  that  the  movements  are  suited 
to  the  impulse  and  result  in  its  satisfaction,  that  is, 
in  fusion.  We  suppose  also  that  such  a  movement 
does  not  take  place  in  an  atom  until  it  has  been  in- 
fluenced by  some  other  suitable  atom.  Before  such 
influence  we  conceive  that  the  atom  has  its  impulses; 
but  with  the  influence,  the  impulse  becomes  confined 
in  direction.  We  broaden  our  statement  to  an 
axiom  as  follows: 

2.  The  influence  emitted  in  an  impulse  is  such 
as  to  make  definite  the  complementary  impulse  in  a 
suitable  other  mind. 

A  definite  impulse  is  thus  one  that  is  affected  by 
the  influence  of  another  mind. 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND  53 

Again : 

3.  The  act  of  satisfying  an  impulse  is  identical  with 
a  movement  in  space. 

And: 

4.  The  force  liberated  in  a  definite  impulse  is  such 
as  to  tend  to  the  motion  necessary  to  bring  about  the 
satisfaction  of  the  impulse. 

In  speaking  of  the  fusing  impulse  of  the  atom  we 
have  probably  gathered  under  a  single  head  a  large 
number  of  distinct  impulses.  Perhaps  there  are 
ultimately  one  or  two  simpler  forms,  which  may  ap- 
pear in  the  future,  when  we  know  more  about  the 
constitution  of  the  atom.  At  present  it  seems  that 
the  atomic  mind  has  a  different  impulse  for  each 
species  of  atomic  mind — a  very  complex  matter, 
viewed  either  chemically  or  mentally.  The  higher 
forms  of  mind  also  make  nice  distinctions  of  this  sort 
through  taste  and  smell;  but  as  there,  so  here,  it 
seems  best  to  class  these  cases  together. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  however,  that  the  fusing  impulse 
must  be  thought  of  as  including  mechanical  differ- 
ences varying  over  a  considerable  field.  Some  im- 
pulses are  stronger  than  others,  and  all  may  have  a 
negative  or  minus  value,  as  well  as  a  positive  or  plus 
one.  The  positive  impulse  is  commonly  called  at- 
traction; the  negative,  repulsion.  The  positive  is 
satisfied  by  fusion,  the  negative  by  a  breaking  up  of 
fusion  or  by  a  separation  of  the  atoms.  The  two 
forms  are  to  be  thought  of  as  varieties  of  the  same 
impulse,  and  in  all  our  subsequent  discussions  it 
may  be  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  impulses  and  de- 


54  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

sires  have  regularly  these  two  values — that  there  is 
always  a  plus  and  always  a  minus  value. 

A  fusion  of  atoms,  however,  cannot  take  place  by  a 
mere  movement  toward  each  other  of  the  atoms 
concerned.  The  atoms  do  not  really  lie  one  against 
the  other  in  the  molecule.  A  point  is  reached,  in 
short,  when  the  atoms  are  mutually  repellent.  On 
this  fact  we  make  the  following  statement: 

A  positive  impulse  when  strengthened  to  a  cer- 
tain point  results  in  negative  action. 

We  hold  also  the  converse,  namely,  that  a  negative 
impulse  when  strengthened  to  a  certain  point  may 
result  in  positive  action. 

These  statements  may  be  combined  into  the  follow- 
ing axiom: 

5.  A  positive  or  a  negative  impulse  when  strength- 
ened to  a  certain  point  behaves  like  its  opposite. 

When  a  fusion  of  atoms  takes  place,  there  is  a 
notable  setting  free  of  force.  This  is  undoubtedly 
a  sign  of  the  giving  up  of  independence  in  the  compo- 
nent atoms,  for  the  fusion  cannot  be  broken  until  the 
force  thus  lost  is  again  supplied  in  some  way.  The 
explanation  of  this  is  only  to  be  conjectured.  We 
hazard  the  following:  As  the  atoms  come  close  to 
each  other  the  influence  of  each  on  the  other  increases 
rapidly,  with  the  result  that  each  has  much  stronger 
impulses  than  it  had  when  farther  from  the  object  of 
its  impulse.  We  may  even  suppose  that  this  in- 
crease is  inversely  as  the  cube  of  the  distance.  When, 
then,  the  fusion  takes  place  the  impulses  of  the  new 
unit  are  very  great,  with  the  result  of  a  large  emission 


THE  ELEMENTS   OF  MIND  55 

of  force,  until  the  molecule  has  reached  a  condition 
of  equilibrium  with  the  surrounding  free  atoms  or 
molecules.  In  a  word,  the  new  fusion  is  essentially 
more  economical  than  the  old  freedom,  and  this 
through  the  intersupport  of  the  atoms  in  their  mutual 
influence  at  close  range. 

This  brings  us  to  the  following  supposition,  namely, 
that  when  an  impulse  is  satisfied,  the  emission  of 
force  is  accompanied  by  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  or 
pleasure  in  the  constituent  atoms. 

We  suppose,  also,  that  if  a  fusion  has  taken  place, 
a  breaking  up  of  the  fusion  with  its  absorption  of 
force  is  accompanied  by  a  feeling  of  displeasure, 
dissatisfaction,  or  pain. 

From  these  suppositions  we  form  our  last  axiom: 

6.  When  an  impulse  is  satisfied  or  its  result  broken 
up,  the  equilibration  of  forces  is  accompanied  by  a 
feeling  of  pleasure  or  pain. 

These  feelings  (the  names  we  have  given  them 
undoubtedly  seem,  too  strong),  so  regularly  accom- 
pany the  satisfaction  and  thwarting  of  impulses  that 
it  seems  inevitable  that  they  should  accompany 
also  the  similar  states  in  the  atom.  It  is  not  possible 
to  make  such  feelings  begin  at  some  higher  stage  of 
development  of  the  mind.  Moreover,  we  intend  to 
identify  them.  In  the  atom  and  molecule  they 
are  what  are  ordinarily  called  the  "sensations"  of 
taste  and  smell,  heat  and  light.  These,  as  we  hope 
to  show  later,  are  not  sensations  at  all,  but  are  the 
characteristic  satisfactions  and  dissatisfactions  of  the 
atoms  or  molecules. 


56  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

By  connecting  pleasure  and  pain  with  changes  in 
the  equilibrium  of  forces,  it  will  be  seen  that  we  are 
in  position  to  explain  the  temporary  quality  of  these 
feelings,  and  also  the  "overflow  movements"  which 
constantly  accompany  them  in  the  higher  animals. 

The  supposed  psychology  of  the  atom  is  thus,  we 
hope,  made  clear  from  the  point  of  view  of  our  theory. 
Sensitiveness  to  heat,  light,  electricity,  magnetism, 
and  the  chemical  forces;  the  power  to  influence  other 
atoms;  the  impulse  to  fuse,  and  the  feelings  of 
pleasure  and  displeasure — these  make  the  sum  total. 
It  is  still  complex,  as  the  atom  is,  but  it  is  not  a  human 
mind  in  miniature.  It  is  an  unconscious,  unthinking, 
unreasoning  bit  of  mind,  acting  inevitably  (but  freely) 
to  certain  simple  situations.  Its  immense  signifi- 
cance is  in  its  power  of  fusion. 

It  may  not  be  amiss  to  recapitulate  here  our  axioms. 
These  are: 

1.  An  impulse  is  identical  with  the  setting  free  of 
force. 

2.  The  influence  emitted  in  an  impulse  is  such  as 
to  make  definite  the  complementary  impulse  in  a  suit- 
able other  mind. 

3.  The  act  of  satisfying  an  impulse  is  identical 
with  a  movement  in  space. 

4.  The  force  liberated  in  a  definite  impulse  is  such 
as  to  tend  to  the  motion  necessary  to  bring  about  the 
satisfaction  of  the  impulse. 

5.  A  positive  or  a  negative  impulse  when  strength- 
ened to  a  certain  point  behaves  like  its  opposite. 

6.  When    an    impulse    is    satisfied    or    its    result 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND  57 

broken  up,  the  equilibration  of  forces  is  accompanied 
by  a  feeling  of  pleasure  or  pain. 

From  these  beginnings  and  with  these  axioms  we 
hope  to  develop  all  minds,  including  that  of  man. 

THE    MOLECULE 

We  pass  now  to  the  consideration  of  the  molecule. 

The  atoms  of  it  are  sensitive  to  heat,  light,  elec- 
tricity, and  the  chemical  influences,  /.  e.y  to  the  in- 
fluences of  other  atoms.  Impulses  thus  aroused  be- 
come common  to  the  molecule  through  sympathy. 
This  sympathy  between  the  atoms  of  a  molecule  is, 
of  course,  to  be  conceived  as  brought  about  in  the 
regular  way,  according  to  our  second  axiom. 

Here  two  possibilities  may  be  noted:  Either  that 
the  different  atoms  may  be  differently  influenced  by 
the  same  force,  so  that  the  result  will  be  either  a 
compromise  or  an  annulling  of  the  impulse,  with  the 
result  that  molecules  will  act  differently  from  their 
constituent  atoms.  Or,  which  is  especially  notable, 
that  the  result  of  an  influence  will  make  a  change  in 
the  nature  of  the  unity  of  the  molecule,  resulting,  that 
is  to  say,  in  a  new  sort  of  relationship  between  the 
atoms  and,  in  a  sense,  in  a  molecule  new  in  character, 
though  composed  of  the  same  atoms.  Some  of  such 
changes  would  cause  a  feeling  of  pleasure,  others  of 
displeasure — or  at  least  we  may  suppose  so. 

The  fusing  impulse  of  the  atoms  remains,  but  in 
the  molecule  it  is  to  be  thought  of  as  the  shaping 
power.  It  is  this  impulse  that  gives  the  molecule  its 
supposed  characteristic  form.  If  the  character  of 


58  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

the  unit  is  altered  by  influences  from  without,  we 
may  suppose  that  the  shape  of  the  molecule  is  al- 
tered correspondingly. 

The  molecule  through  its  atoms  also  has  the  power 
to  influence  atoms  outside  of  itself.  It  may  even 
annex  such  and  form  a  new  unit.  Such  outside  units 
may  also  affect  it  so  as  to  break  it  up  and  make  it 
form  a  new  arrangement.  In  either  of  these  cases 
the  original  molecule  is,  of  course,  quite  lost  as  a 
unit. 

The  great  gain  in  the  molecules  is  that  they  are 
related  to  each  other  in  a  way  that  is  similar  to  the 
relation  between  the  atoms.  They  unite  to  form 
units  of  a  higher  degree,  namely,  crystals  and  the 
unicellular  plants  and  animals.  This  phenomenon 
we  shall  call  repetition.  The  fusing  impulse  of  the 
molecules  is  a  repetition  of  the  fusing  impulse  of  the 
atoms. 

We  suppose,  therefore,  the  same  things  as  before. 

Molecules  have  toward  other  molecules  the  fusing 
impulse.  Viewed  physically,  this  means  a  liberation 
of  force.  This  impulse,  again,  is  not  to  be  under- 
stood as  a  thought  or  an  imagination.  The  molecule 
can  know  nothing  of  other  molecules.  It  is  rather  a 
longing  or  dissatisfaction  (though,  as  in  the  atom, 
these  words  still  seem  too  strong)  which  proves  to  be 
satisfied  by  a  fusion. 

Again,  molecules  emit  an  influence  (physically,  a 
force)  which  is  such  as  to  bring  about  a  comple- 
mentary impulse  in  suitable  other  molecules.  It  also 
makes  such  an  impulse  definite  in  direction. 


THE  ELEMENTS   OF  MIND  59 

The  act  of  satisfying  the  impulse  is,  also,  a  move- 
ment in  space,  the  molecules  assuming  a  definite 
relation  to  each  other  in  a  definite  form;  and  this 
is  accomplished,  as  in  the  atoms,  invariably  and 
through  the  force  liberated  in  the  impulse.  More- 
over, the  molecules  are  not  supposed  to  touch 
each  other,  but  the  positive  impulse  changes,  as 
the  molecules  approach,  to  a  negative  manner  of 
action.  Hence  the  elasticity  of  molecular  fusions. 
All  these  details  are  repetitions  of  the  phenomena  in 
the  atom. 

When  the  fusion  takes  place,  force  is  set  free,  and 
we  suppose  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  accompanying 
it  in  the  newly  made  fusion.  We  suppose  also  a 
feeling  of  dissatisfaction  in  case  the  perfection  of 
the  fusion  is  lessened. 

In  physics,  the  names  of  the  forces  joining  mole- 
cules are  called  cohesion  and  adhesion.  They  are 
much  weaker  than  the  chemical  forces,  and  may  be 
overcome  by  simple  physical  means,  such  as  a  ham- 
mer blow. 

The  fusions  of  molecules  are  largely  composed  of 
similar  molecules,  but  in  the  unicellular  plants  and 
animals  the  commonest  forms  are  made  up  of  dis- 
similar ones.  In  the  first  case,  the  sympathy  be- 
tween the  molecules  may  be  considered  as  resulting 
in  a  nearly  identical  complementary  impulse  through- 
out; in  the  second,  the  impulses  are  to  be  thought 
of  as  on  the  whole  complementary.  In  the  sum 
total,  the  molecules  of  the  protozoic  plants  and 
animals  are  one  and  act  as  one. 


60  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

THE    CELL 

Cells  have  been  supposed  to  be  made  up  of  units 
of  a  higher  grade  than  molecules,  but  as  this  has  been 
merely  for  purposes  of  theory,  and  as  there  is  no 
evidence  of  the  existence  of  such  units  in  a  free  state, 
we  shall  suppose  that  cells  are  simply  molecular 
fusions.  If  there  are  units  between,  we  shall  sup- 
pose them  to  be  what  we  have  called  local  fusions, 
or  subfusions. 

With  cells  we  shall  also  make  some  references  to 
crystals,  which  we  consider  units  of  the  same  grade. 

These  fusions,  then,  have,  first,  the  qualities  and 
powers  of  atoms.  They  are  sensitive  in  their  atoms 
to  the  influence  of  other  atoms,  namely,  to  light,  heat, 
electricity,  and  the  chemical  forces,  and  any  atom  so 
affected  may  affect  in  some  measure  the  cell  or 
crystal,  for  it  may  communicate  its  impulses  to  other 
atoms.  It  is  to  be  noticed  that  it  does  not  communi- 
cate its  sensitiveness  but  merely  its  impulse,  and  that 
this  may  be  done  not  only  by  means  of  the  same  force 
that  influenced  it,  but  (since  the  atom  affects  first 
the  molecule  of  which  it  is  part,  and  this  molecule 
then  affects  other  molecules)  that  it  may  be  accom- 
plished by  means  of  other,  namely,  molecular  forces. 

An  important  difference  between  cells  and  crystals 
is  that  in  the  crystals  the  fusing  impulse  is  very  power- 
ful and,  apparently,  simple;  while  in  the  cells  it  is 
far  less  powerful  and  simple.  As  a  result,  crystals 
are  solid  and  fixed  in  form,  whereas  cells  are  soft 
and  mobile.  When,  therefore,  a  cell  is  influenced  from 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND  61 

without,  /.  <?.,  by  another  mind,  it  may  be  far  more 
profoundly  changed  than  the  crystal.  It  may  as- 
sume many  different  unities,  each  represented  by 
some  special  characteristic  form  of  the  organism. 

The  cell  through  its  atoms  has  also  the  power  to 
influence  atoms  both  inside  of  itself  and  outside. 

Through  its  molecules  the  cell  is  influenced  by  out- 
side molecules,  and  it  has  an  influence  over  molecules 
both  within  and  without  it. 

This  power  is  used  in  at  least  one  very  character- 
istic way  in  cells  composed  of  dissimilar  molecules. 
A  suitable  external  or  internal  molecule,  namely,  may 
be  so  influenced  and  supported  by  the  other  molecules 
of  the  unit  as  to  find  that  it  has  too  many  or  too 
few  atoms,  or  that  its  atoms  are  wrongly  arranged. 
This  molecule,  then,  will  either  throw  ofF  or  assume 
atoms  and  will  rearrange  itself  to  suit  the  unit  as  a 
whole.  The  process  as  regards  external  atoms  is 
called  assimilation. 

The  fusing  impulse  of  the  molecules  exists  in  the 
cell  and  crystal  as  a  shaping  influence.  It  determines 
and  maintains  the  form  of  the  unit.  In  cells  of  dis- 
similar molecules,  it  operates  naturally  to  bring  to- 
gether those  molecules  that  are  similar.  The  result 
is  a  nucleus  (of  molecules,  apparently,  in  which  the 
fusing  impulse  is  strongest)  and  successive  layers, 
the  outer  ones  being  least  mobile. 

A  special  trait  to  be  noticed  in  these  fusions,  how- 
ever, is  that  they  may  exist  though  incomplete.  The 
mind  in  such  cases  is  to  be  thought  of  as  having  an 
unsatisfied  molecular-fusing  impulse  or  a  partially 


62  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

satisfied  one.  If  circumstances  permit,  this  impulse 
will  more  nearly  satisfy  itself  by  the  assimilation  of 
and  fusion  with  more  molecules;  and  we  find  the 
crystal  completing  its  broken  parts,  and  the  plant  and 
animal  regenerating  (which  is  the  same  thing).  Both 
crystals  and  the  unicellular  organisms  also  increase 
in  size  within  certain  limits,  maintaining  their  unity, 
/.  e.,  from  the  outside,  their  characteristic  forms. 

In  this  connection  we  must  notice  a  striking 
difference  between  the  crystal  and  the  cell.  The 
crystal  may  apparently  attain  its  satisfaction;  the 
fusion  seems  to  become  perfect,  after  which  the  crystal 
may  remain  fixed  forever.  But  with  animal  and 
plant  cells  this  is  not  so.  If  placed  in  favorable  cir- 
cumstances they  continue  to  grow  until,  having 
reached  a  certain  size,  the  unit  becomes  too  large  to 
keep  in  full  sympathy.  It  then  inevitably  divides 
into  two  or  more  spheres  of  influence,  and  finally 
separates  into  two  or  more  individuals.  Just  how 
this  occurs  is  not  fully  known.  The  first  appearance 
of  division  is  in  the  nucleus  which  divides  into  parts, 
but  without  doubt  the  cell  acts  as  a  whole,  though  the 
nucleus  is  the  most  influential  part.  This  division 
of  cells  may  also  be  brought  about  by  starvation — a 
lack  of  energy  and  perfection  evidently  being  the 
equivalent  of  the  too  great  size.  Living  cells,  then, 
are  never  perfect,  though  always  working  toward 
perfection.  Their  impulse  is  toward  an  unattainable 
goal.  We  make,  accordingly,  our  definition: 

The  essence  of  life  is  an  impulse  which  cannot  be 
perfectly  satisfied. 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND  63 

> 

It  is  a  constant  "hunger" — a  constant  setting  free 

of  foflctf— a  constant  struggle.  As  often  as  the  unit 
approaches  its  goal,  it  gives  off  force  and  experiences 
pleasure;  as  often  as  it  loses  ground,  it  absorbs  force 
and  feels  displeasure  or  pain.1 

A  further  fact  to  be  considered  is  that  while  mole- 
cules and  atoms  are  affected  only  chemically,  the 
living  unit  may  be  affected  also  physically.  Being 
soft,  it  may  be  squeezed  out  of  its  characteristic 
shape.  It  may  also  be  crushed  or  cut.  Such  a 
disarrangement  of  its  form  affects,  of  course,  the 
molecular-fusing  impulse  in  it — either  pleasantly  or 
unpleasantly.  The  feeling  thus  aroused  we  identify 
as  what  is  ordinarily  called  the  "sensitiveness"  to 
touch.  If  the  cell  were  crushed  or  cut  it  would 
amount  to  pain. 

We  have  thus,  in  the  cell,  the  elementary  forms  of 
all  the  senses  of  the  fully  developed  animal.  Its 
perfection  may  be  advanced  or  lessened,  and  it  may, 
consequently,  experience  pleasure  or  pain  through 
light  (sight),  heat  (feeling),  pressure  (touch  and 
hearing),  and  the  chemical  forces  (taste  and  smell). 

The  cell  in  its  relation  to  other  cells  is  now  to  be 
considered.  Repetition  occurs  and  our  axioms  all 
hold  good.  Cells  have  the  impulse  to  fuse  with  other 
cells;  they  emit  influences  that  are  mechanical  in 
nature;  the  force  set  free  through  influence  tends  to 
bring  about  the  satisfaction  of  the  impulse;  the  im- 


1  Whether  molecules  and  atoms  are  ever  perfectly  satisfied  we  can- 
not, of  course,  know.  Under  given  circumstances,  however,  they 
remain  at  rest,  whereas  living  substance  does  not. 


64  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

pulses  made  definite  through  influence  are  comple- 
mentary to  those  in  suitable  cells  that  emitted  the 
influence.  Nevertheless,  since  we  have  now  reached 
units  that  are  visible,  and  that  are  extremely  complex, 
the  matter  needs  a  fuller  discussion. 

The  fusing  impulse  in  cells  varies  greatly  with 
different  species.  All  the  multicellular  plants  and 
animals  are  fusions  of  cells;  but  there  are  an  im- 
mense number  of  protozoic  plants  and  animals  that 
are  free-living  and  that  do  not  fuse.  When  we  sup- 
pose a  fusing  impulse  in  these  free  protozoa,  we  can 
evidently  mean  very  little — nothing  more,  in  fact, 
than  that  they  gather  in  groups  or  clusters,  or  that 
they  are  not  affected  by  each  other  as  they  are  by 
food  or  by  inanimate  objects.  There  is  some  mu- 
tual influencing  of  the  organisms,  and  our  theory  sup- 
poses that  it  is  of  a  fusing  nature,  but  it  is  often  so 
weak  that  it  is  easily  overcome  by  the  stronger  im- 
pulse for  food,  /.  ^.,  the  molecular-fusing  impulse. 
The  study  of  the  fusing  influence  and  relation  of  cells 
is  thus  to  be  made,  fruitfully,  only  as  the  cells  are 
part  of  a  multicellular  organism,  /.  £.,  only  when 
the  fusing  impulse  is  strong  enough  to  give  active 
evidence  of  itself. 

Several  things,  however,  should  be  noted  here,  be- 
fore passing  to  the  multicellular  organisms. 

We  do  not  know  how  atoms  and  molecules  ac- 
complish their  movements  in  space.  They  and  their 
movements  are  invisible.  The  unicellular  organisms 
on  the  other  hand  are  visible,  and  are  found  to  pro- 
gress by  rhythmic  changes  of  form  that  push  them 


THE  ELEMENTS   OF  MIND  65 

through  the  surrounding  medium.  In  other  words, 
they  propel  themselves  very  much  as  the  higher 
animals  do,  by  swimming,  crawling,  and  the  like. 

The  possibility  of  these  rhythmic  motions  is  not 
hard  to  make  clear.  They  occur  according  to  our 
fifth  axiom.  When,  namely,  the  cell  feels  a  positive 
impulse  (in  its  nucleus,  apparently)  and  so  liberates 
force,  the  sympathetic  impulse  in  the  appendages 
or  in  the  surface  layers  of  cells  quickly  causes  a 
movement  to  a  certain  position;  the  force,  however, 
continues,  and  perhaps  accumulates,  until  the  ap- 
pendages or  surface  layers  act  negatively  and  change 
the  shape  of  the  organism  to  another  form.  This 
movement  consumes  force,  and  the  cell  resumes  its 
original  form  until  the  impulse  has  grown  strong 
enough  to  bring  about  the  positive  and  negative 
positions  again.  Thus,  an  even  discharge  of  force 
may  produce  a  rhythmic  motion.1 

Just  why  this  should  result  in  a  movement  toward 
or  away  from  the  source  of  the  impulse  is  not  clear. 
That  it  always  does  so,  is  the  fact.  It  is  as  regular  as 
the  movements  of  the  atoms  and  molecules,  and  seems 
as  inevitable.  It  has  no  appearance  of  being  a  result 
of  natural  selection.  Our  axioms  hold  good,  namely, 
that  the  force  set  free  in  a  definite  impulse  tends  to 
bring  about  the  satisfaction  of  the  impulse;  and  that 
this  act  toward  satisfaction  is  a  movement  in  space. 

In  explaining  these  cases,  and  the  similar  ones  in 
the  many-celled  animals,  we  must  be  on  our  guard 
lest  we  assume  more  than  we  may.  It  is  as  certain 

1  See  Loeb,  "The  Physiology  of  the  Brain." 


60  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

as  anything  reasonable  can  be,  that  there  is  in  these 
animals  no  thought  of  the  foreign  object  or  of  the 
space  to  be  covered  or  of  uniting  with  any  other 
substance  or  unit.  There  is  merely  the  impulse,  or 
longing,  aroused  by  the  affecting  object  and  resulting 
ultimately  in  an  undulatory  change  of  form.  That 
additional  light  can  be  thrown  upon  it,  however,  is 
not  to  be  doubted. 

Besides  the  fusion  of  cells  in  the  multicellular 
animals  and  plants  there  is  also  another  extremely 
important  uniting  of  cells  which  now  calls  for  our 
consideration.  This  union  is  between  unlike  cells 
and  is  of  a  more  primitive  nature  than  the  fusion  of 
cells  which  forms  the  multicellular  organisms.  The 
cells  are  always  two  in  number  and  no  more.  Their 
union,  which  is  now  generally  admitted  to  be  primi- 
tive sex,  is  not  a  true  fusion  of  the  cells,  but  is  rather 
a  fusion  of  the  molecules  of  the  cells.  The  two  cells 
quite  cease  to  exist  and  one  cell  is  the  result.  The 
union  is  of  part  with  part,  /'.  e.,  the  nuclei  of  the  two 
cells  unite  to  form  the  nucleus  of  the  new  cell  and  it 
is  believed  that  the  other  parts  unite  correspondingly. 

This  impulse  seems  clearly  to  have  a  connection 
with  the  general  perfection  of  the  molecules  of  the 
cell.  Every  molecule  in  the  unit  seems  to  feel  an 
impulse  to  join  with  a  molecule  of  the  other  unit. 
It  may  thus  be  described  as  the  extreme  case  of 
hunger,  or  the  molecular-fusing  impulse,  in  the  cell. 
Ordinarily  the  cell  satisfies  its  impulse  by  assimilating 
an  atom  or  a  molecule;  here  it  takes  in  and  is  taken 
in  by  a  whole  set  of  corresponding  molecules. 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND  67 

Several  points  may  be  brought  forward  as  evidence 
of  the  truth  of  our  position  toward  this  phenomenon. 

1.  Such  unions  are  known  to  exist  only  between 
cells  that  have  had  a  different  environment.     Sister 
cells  will  not  unite,  but  if  they  are  put  into  different 
foods,  they  will  unite  if  brought  together  afterward. 
Each  cell,  in  that  case,  seems  to  possess  something 
that  the  other  wants. 

2.  If  cells  are  kept  alone  in  an  unchanging  en- 
vironment, they  will  ultimately  die.     They  can  be 
made  to  live  indefinitely  (i)  if  the  environment  be 
changed,  or  (2)  if  they  can  unite  sexually  with  other 
cells.     Evidently  in  this  case  sex  union  is  equal  to  a 
change  of  food.     It  has  been  noted  generally  that  I 
sex  crossing  with  individuals  of  a  different  environ- 7. 
ment  increases  the  vigor  and  perfection  of  species.  - 

3.  If  cells  be  "starved,"  by  a  lack  of  change  in 
food,  even  sister  cells  will,  at  the  very  last  before 
death,  attempt  to  unite  sexually.     The  extreme  of 
hunger  thus  appears  to  be  sex. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  however,  that  sex  is  not  an  ex- 
treme of  ordinary  hunger;  there  must  be  a  lack  in 
all  (or  approximately  all)  the  molecules  of  the  cell. 
It  is  a  mutual  impulse  of  molecule  for  molecule 
throughout  the  two  cells.  There  must  be  a  strong 
general  imperfection. 

It  seems  plain  that  such  an  impulse  could  be 
aroused  in  a  cell  only  by  a  cell  that  was  composed  of 
molecules  that  corresponded,  /.  e.y  by  a  cell  of  the 
same  species.  The  principle  of  recognition  seems 
thus  to  be  simple. 


68  A  THEORY   OF  MIND 

The  sex  form  of  impulse  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  true 
and  distinct  one.  It  is  evident,  however,  that  it  is 
of  no  such  consequence  for  the  advance  of  the  uni- 
verse as  is  the  instinct  of  fusion  between  cells.  The 
sex  union  leaves  the  world  where  it  was;  a  single 
cell  is  the  result.  Cell-fusion  gives  us  a  unit  of  a 
higher  order,  the  multicellular  organism. 

THE   MULTICELLULAR   ORGANISMS 

Under  multicellular  organisms  we  shall  consider 
almost  exclusively  the  animals.  Plants  show  so  little 
mentality  that  the  consideration  of  them  is  hardly 
fruitful  except  in  the  simplest  matters.1 

Multicellular  organisms  are  fusions  of  cells.  Being 
composed  ultimately  of  atoms,  they  are  sensitive  to 
light,  heat,  electricity,  and  other  influences  from  out- 
side atoms  and  between  the  atoms  within  the  organ- 
ism. 

The  so-called  "sensations"  of  light,  heat,  etc., 
are,  as  we  have  held,  special  feelings  of  pleasure  and 
displeasure.  We  will  now  consider  this,  and,  as  a 
representative  of  this  class  of  feelings,  let  us  consider 
especially  the  feeling  of  light  in  man. 

Light  affects  directly  the  ends  of  the  optic  nerves 
in  the  eye.  At  this  point,  we  hold,  the  light  arouses 
a  sympathetic  impulse  in  the  atoms  and  so  affects 
the  molecules  to  a  definite  impulse.  This  impulse 
of  the  molecules  passes  sympathetically  from  mole- 

1  It  may  be  noted  in  passing  that  crystals  also  show  some  signs  of 
this  grade  of  development.  Not  only  do  they  propagate  themselves 
(in  the  surrounding  mother  liquid),  but  the  group  of  crystals  thus 
formed  often  has  characteristic  shapes,  as  very  notably  in  snow-flakes. 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND  69 

cule  to  molecule,  according  to  our  axioms,  until  it 
reaches  the  brain  cells,  practically  unchanged.  The 
cells  of  the  optic  centres,  having  this  impulse,  are 
either  lessened  in  perfection  by  it  (and  perhaps  throw 
off  atoms  or  molecules),  or  they  are  enabled,  through 
the  defining  of  their  impulses,  to  gain  a  new  perfec- 
tion, and  this  either  without  atomic  increase,  or  by 
assimilating  new  atoms  from  the  blood  (probably  the 
latter,  since  blood  is  probably  needed).  In  the  brain 
cells,  then,  there  would  be  a  characteristic  feeling  of 
pain  or  pleasure;  and  this  characteristic  feeling  we 
call  the  "sensation"  of  light. 

The  reasons  for  believing  this  are  several: 

1.  It  is  certain  that  light  does  not  pass  along  the 
nerve.     Something  passes  along  it,  but  it  is  not  light. 

2.  The  brain   cells   themselves   are   not   sensitive 
to   light.     They   have   no   distinct   feeling   under   a 
ray  of  light. 

3.  If  the  optic  nerve  be  harmed,  a  "sensation"  of 
dazzling  light  is  felt.     What  should  be  felt  is  pain. 
Pain  in  the  optic  centres  is  thus  the  sensation  of  a 
dazzling  light.     It  may  be  said  that  pain  also  is  felt, 
but  this  pain,  we  believe,  is  not  felt  in  the  optic 
centres  as  such,  but  through  sympathy  in  the  other 
cells  or  molecules  of  the  brain.     When  the  impulse  in 
the  optic  centres  passes  to  other  cells  or  molecules,  it 
would  result  in  the  pain  characteristic  of  those  cen- 
tres, /.  ^.,  would  become  what  we  more  commonly 
call  by  the  name  pain.1 

1  In  a  similar  way  are  to  be  explained  all  pleasures  and  displeasures 
in  objects  of  sense,  e.  g.,  in  colors  or  sounds  and  their  combinations. 


70  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

4.  Our  supposition  explains  how  it  is  that  in  cer- 
tain individuals  a  certain  sound  calls  up  a  clear  sense 
of  color  or  taste,  and  vice  versa.  Sound  is  a  pleasure 
or  pain  in  certain  cells  of  the  brain.  If  the  impulses 
back  of  these  pleasures  are  communicated  sym- 
pathetically to  the  other  cells  of  the  brain  and 
ultimately  to  the  optic  cells,  a  pleasure  or  pain  would 
or  might  result  in  those  cells.  This  pleasure  or  pain, 
being  characteristic  of  the  optic  centre,  would  be  the 
sensation  of  certain  colors  regularly  suited  to  the 
pleasure  or  pain  of  the  sound. 

This  would  give  us,  besides,  a  theory  to  explain 
special  forms  of  artistic  minds.  To  a  musician  the 
sight  of  a  butterfly  suggests  definite  melodies,  and 
when  these  melodies  are  played,  the  world  recognizes 
that  they  produce  a  pleasure  like  that  produced  by 
the  sight  of  the  butterfly.  (This  is  evidence,  by  the 
way,  that  the  same  thing  takes  place,  though  to  a 
less  degree,  in  all  brains.)  To  the  painter,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  sound  of  music  may  suggest  a  color 
"harmony,"  and  when  he  has  painted  it,  the  elect 
may  agree  with  his  calling  it  by  some  such  name.  In 
this  way  music,  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture 
may  become  each  an  "interpretation  of  life"  in  a 
very  wide  sense. 

Through  the  molecules  (in  the  cell-fusions)  the 
body  has  the  feelings  of  touch  and  the  specially  de- 
veloped form  called  hearing. 

Through  the  cells  (in  the  body-fusion)  the  body 
has  the  pleasures  and  pains  of  a  perfect  or  imperfect 
body — the  "sensations"  of  health  and  ill-health. 


THE   ELEMENTS   OF   MIND  71 

Again: 

Through  its  atoms  and  molecules,  the  body  has 
power  over  atoms  and  molecules,  within  and  without 
the  body.  It  can  thus  assimilate  external  matter, 
as  in  digestion;  and  can  control  its  cells  so  as  to  make 
them  assume  special  shapes,  notably  in  the  special 
cells  of  the  muscles. 

Through  its  cells  it  controls  other  cells,  the  whole 

O  ' 

body  being  made  to  assume  characteristic  forms. 
This  is  the  principle  back  of  the  science  of  mor- 
phology. 

Again: 

The  fusing  impulse  of  the  atoms  brings  about  as- 
similation. 

The  fusing  impulse  of  the  molecules  causes  and 
preserves  and  regenerates  the  cell  forms. 

The  fusing  impulse  of  the  cells  causes  and  pre- 
serves and  regenerates  the  body  shape. 

As  the  fusing  impulses  of  the  molecules  and 
the  cells  are  unsatisfiable,  the  mind  is  always  im- 
perfect, always  approaching  or  leaving  perfection; 
always  longing;  always  feeling  pleasure  and  pain; 
always  liberating  force  (since  it  always  has  unsat- 
isfied impulses);  and  always  using  this  liberated 
force  in  action  directed  toward  the  satisfaction  of 
its  impulses. 

It  may  not  be  amiss  to  notice  certain  acts  in 
detail. 

The  fusing  impulse  of  the  atoms  works  for  the 
perfection  of  the  molecules.  The  acts  of  this  impulse 
are  seen  in  the  elaborate  processes  of  assimilation 


72  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

and  purification  in  the  body.  Each  cell  of  the  body 
throws  off  its  impure  atoms  (chiefly  into  the  streams 
of  blood)  and  assimilates  others  (chiefly  from  the 
same  source).  Moreover,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  this 
is  a  native  power  and  not  dependent  upon  experience. 
Strange  chemicals  (produced  by  microbes  or  inserted 
into  the  body)  are  thrown  off  or  adapted  temporarily 
with  the  same  efficiency  as  the  ordinary  waste  of  the 
body. 

The  fusing  impulse  of  the  molecules  works  for  the 
perfection  of  the  cells.  The  acts  of  this  impulse  are 
seen  in  the  preservation  of  the  forms  of  the  cell  and 
in  the  curing  of  cuts  and  bruises;  in  the  growth  of 
hair  and  nails;  and  the  like. 

The  fusing  impulse  of  the  cells  works  for  the  per- 
fection of  the  body.  The  acts  of  this  impulse  are 
seen  in  the  maintaining  of  the  shape  of  the  body  as 
a  whole;  the  healing  of  broken  bones;  the  natural 
straightening  and  forming  of  parts,  as,  for  instance, 
after  rickets.  This  impulse  is  found  in  all  multi- 
cellular  organisms.  Plants  assume  definite  and 
characteristic  forms  and  proportions  as  wholes,  and 
have  the  power  of  regeneration  often  to  a  striking 
degree.  The  lower  animals  have  also  their  regular 
forms,  and  regeneration  in  them  is  often  far  greater 
than  in  man.  We  have  noted  the  regeneration  of  the 
head  in  Planarians  and  earthworms,  and  of  the  foot 
in  frogs. 

At  this  point  it  seems  proper  to  speak  at  some 
length  of  growth.  All  multicellular  animals  and 
plants  grow.  They  are  composed  of  a  number  of 


THE  ELEMENTS   OF  MIND  73 

sister  cells,  and  they  begin  regularly  as  a  single  one 
which  afterward  by  continued  division  forms  the 
complex  unit  of  many  cells. 

The  word  growth  is  used  in  common  speech  with 
various  meanings:  The  hair  grows,  /'.  <?.,  increases 
in  size  until  the  fusing  impulse  of  the  cell  is  satisfied. 
The  frog's  foot  may  grow  again,  /.  e.,  a  new  foot  is 
built  upon  the  stump  of  the  old  leg.  These  forms  of 
growth  are  quite  different  from  what  is  meant  when 
we  say  that  the  child  grows.  The  child  is  always 
approximately  perfect.  Its  growth  is  a  regular 
change  from  one  form  to  other  succeeding  ones.  It 
is  this  form  of  growth  that  now  demands  our  con- 
sideration. 

Our  theory  holds  that  the  body  and  the  mind  are 
identical.  Any  change  in  the  body,  therefore,  means 
a  corresponding  change  in  the  mind.  But  the  form 
of  the  body  (and  the  mind)  we  have  identified  as  due 
to  the  fusing  impulse  of  the  cells.  Any  change,  then, 
in  the  body  is  due  to  a  change  in  the  fusing  impulse 
of  its  cells.  The  development  of  the  animal  through 
its  successive  changes  means  a  constant  shifting  of  the 
fusing  impulse — a  constant  shifting  of  the  ideal  that 
would  satisfy  this  impulse.  The  course  of  the  embryo^ 
is  thus  not  the  shortest  practical  way  of  building  up 
the  body.  The  embryo  is  always  a  relatively  perfect 
unit  and  shifts  along  from  one  perfection  to  another, 
from  the  original  single  embryonic  cell  to  the  birth, 
and  even  to  the  death  of  the  individual. 

We  conceive  of  the  mind  of  the  body  as  a  unit — its 
locus  is  the  whole  body;  but  we  suppose  also  that  it 


74  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

regularly  has  some  special  part  that  is  prevailing  in 
influence,  and  that  may  be  called  the  focus  of  the 
body-mind.  Our  idea  of  the  course  of  development 
is  that  as  the  body  advances  and  is  about  to  reach 
some  one  sort  of  perfection,  it  develops  some  new 
focus  that  turns  it  into  a  course  toward  a  new  per- 
fection, not  essentially  contradictory  to  the  one  just 
approached. 

We  shall  be  able  to  develop  this  view  better  after 
an  illustration  drawn  from  physics.  If  a  bowl  of 
water  have  an  aperture  in  the  bottom,  the  water  will 
flow  out  of  the  aperture  with  increasing  velocity. 
The  lines  of  the  flow  will  at  first  be  straight;  but  as 
the  velocity  increases  the  water  gets  into  a  state  of 
unstable  equilibrium,  when  the  slightest  influence 
will  cause  it  to  change  into  the  whirlpool  form.  This 
change  will  in  practice  inevitably  take  place,  and  by 
it  the  water  is  brought  again  into  a  state  of  stable 
equilibrium,  and  goes  on  increasing  its  speed  of 
motion  until  it  develops  a  tube  of  air  reaching  down 
to  the  aperture.  Having  reached  this  ultimate  form 
of  the  whirlpool,  the  water  again  arrives  at  a  state 
of  unstable  equilibrium.  It  regains  its  stable  equilib- 
rium by  changing  into  a  movement  by  which  the 
air  column  turns  so  as  to  describe  by  its  turning  a 
cone,  the  apex  of  which  is  the  aperture.  Mathe- 
matically stated,  it  is  found  that  when  the  equation 
of  the  movement  of  a  body  reaches  its  limit,  it  may 
agree  closely  with  some  form  of  the  equation  of  quite 
a  different  sort  of  movement,  and  may  then  develop 
further  by  slipping  over  and  following  the  develop- 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  MIND  75 

ments  of  this  other  equation,  with  which  ft  had  be- 
come almost  or  quite  identical.  In  certain  forms  of 
movement,  as  many  as  four  or  five  successive  changes 
have  been  found  to  follow  each  other  in  this  way. 

Our  idea  of  development  is  analogous.  When  the 
fusing  impulse  approaches  one  satisfaction,  its  power 
is  still  great,  but  it  has  reached  or  nearly  reached  the 
limit  of  its  possibilities  along  that  line.  This  brings 
about  a  state  which  may  be  compared  to  a  state  of 
unstable  equilibrium.  Another  focus  may  then  come 
into  decisive  influence  and  the  development  of  the 
unit  may  take  an  entirety  new  direction — which, 
however,  must  not  be  directly  contradictory  to  the 
preceding  direction,  else  the  preceding  influence, 
which  was  stronger,  will  annul  it.  Thus  develop- 
ment proceeds  along  regular  lines.  The  stronger, 
more  primitive  impulses  accomplish  themselves  first; 
the  finer  and  finest  ones  last;  and  each  builds,  on  the 
whole,  upon  the  work  of  its  predecessors. 

Before  proceeding  further,  let  us  examine  the  evi- 
dence for  some  of  our  statements.  First,  as  to  the 
body  as  a  representation  of  its  body-mind  at  each 
moment, 

That  the  mature  organism  is  a  representation  of 
its  own  body-mind,  and  not  dependent  upon  its 
previous  development,  is  evident  from  the  facts  of 
regeneration.  When,  to  take  one  instance  out  of 
many,  a  frog's  foot  is  amputated,  a  new  foot  grows 
in  its  place.  But  this  new  foot  does  not  begin  as 
an  embryonic  foot.  It  goes  through  no  metamor- 
phoses, but  fills  out  as  directly  and  rapidly  as  possi- 


76  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ble  into  a  mature,  fully  developed  member.  It 
completes  the  present  body-fusion. 

Secondly,  as  to  a  change  of  body  caused  by  a 
change  of  mind. 

We  might  adduce  the  -cases  of  the  parasitic 
crustaceans  and  other  animals,  which,  when  they 
become  sessile,  lose  all  organs  of  locomotion;  or 
that  of  the  flatfish,  which,  when  it  develops  the  in- 
stinct of  lying  flat  on  the  bottom -of  the  ocean,  changes 
as  if  its  body  were  of  putty,  to  the  suitable  strange 
form.  We  consider  these  as  cases  to  be  explained  so, 
but  will  give  a  more  indubitable  one. 

The  lobster,  as  is  well  known,  is  armed  at  its  for- 
ward part  with  two  large  claws  or  nippers.  These 
claws  are  not  alike,  the  right  one  being  provided  with 
fine  sharp  teeth,  the  left  with  blunt  rounded  ones. 
The  right  one  is  also  the  one  most  used  by  the  lobster. 
If,  now,  this  right  claw  be  amputated,  the  lobster 
remains  deformed  until  it  next  casts  its  shell  and  se- 
cretes a  new  one.  Meanwhile  it  makes  constant  use  of 
the  left  claw  which  remains.  When,  now,  it  casts  its 
shell  the  lost  claw  is  regenerated,  but  this  new  right 
claw  is  not  a  right  claw  in  shape,  but  has  blunt  teeth; 
and  the  much-used  claw  on  the  other  side  is  found  to 
have  gained  sharp  teeth.  In  a  word,  the  lobster  has 
changed  into  a  left-handed  animal.  Here  we  see 
that  a  change  of  habit  (/.  e.,  mind)  may  result 
immediately  in  a  change  of  body.1 


1  In  this  class  of  phenomena  may  be  put  what  are  ordinarily  called 
individual  adaptations,  i.  e.,  the  changes  in  the  individual,  caused  by 
use  and  disuse. 


THE  ELEMENTS   OF  MIND  77 

Thirdly,  as  to  the  existence  of  foci  that  are  influ- 
ential in  growth. 

We  adduce  here  the  cases  of  gelded  animals.  A 
gelded  sheep  differs  from  a  normal  one  in  character, 
size,  appearance,  voice,  and  taste  of  flesh.  It  is  a 
different  animal  from  the  normal  male.  The  workers 
among  bees  and  ants  may  be  parallel  cases.  Or, 
again,  we  may  consider  the  changes  in  character,  size, 
development,  and  taste  of  flesh  in  female  mammals 
that  have  had  young;  or  the  condition  of  plants  that 
have  flowered.  All  these  profound  changes  seem 
undoubtedly  due  to  causes  which  were  at  first  very 
local,  but  which  evidently  changed  the  character  of 
the  organisms  as  a  whole.  Experiments  may  very 
well  show  that  these  cases  are  not  at  all  isolated  ones.1 

We  may  thus  consider  our  general  thesis  as  proba- 
ble, though  it  is  not  clear  that  all  directions  of  pro- 
gressive development  are  influenced  by  special  foci. 
When  the  organism  has  reached  a  point  of  unstable 
equilibrium,  its  further  progress  may  be  determined 
in  some  cases  by  the  mere  nature  of  the  position,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  flowing  water. 

Whatever  may  determine  the  changes,  it  is  clear  in 
certain  cases  that  a  determination  early  in  the  de- 
velopment may  have  a  profound  effect  upon  the  whole 
future  life  of  the  organism.  Most  animals,  for 
instance,  have  two  possible  courses  of  development, 
distinct  almost  from  the  beginning  of  their  life.  We 

1 A  curious  case  of  influencing  the  fusing  impulse  is  that  of  tree  and 
plant  galls.  Here  (apparently  by  the  injection  or  production  of  a 
chemical)  the  whole  manner  of  development  of  the  vegetable  cells 
is  altered,  and  takes  on  new  characteristics. 


78 


A  THEORY  OF  MIND 


refer  to  the  difference  of  the  sexes.  Sexually,  an 
organism  seems  to  reach  a  point  of  balance,  from 
which  it  may  follow  either  of  two  quite  distinct  lines 
of  growth.  It  may  become  either  a  male  or  a  female. 
What  decides  which  it  is  to  be  has  never  been  definite- 
ly determined.  It  seems  as  though  the  vigor  or  con- 
dition of  the  whole  organism  at  the  decisive  moment 
might  be  the  decisive  factor — the  more  perfect  or- 
ganisms becoming  females,  the  less  perfect  males. 

Other  determinations  are  equally  variable  and,  so 
far,  insoluble.  Apples,  pears,  peaches,  and  many 
other  common  plants  as  well  as  many  of  the  domestic 
animals  vary  constantly  within  certain  limits.  These 
variations  seem  as  though  they  might  be  new  direc- 
tions added  to  the  ordinary  limits  of  their  corre- 
sponding wild  species,  /.  e.,  the  wild  species  go  through 
a  certain  number  of  shiftings  of  direction  from  the 
germ  cell  to  the  mature  condition;  the  domesticated 
ones  go  through  these,  and  besides  (perhaps  because 
of  their  new  and  better  surroundings  and  surplus 
energy)  add  a  new  one,  varying  with  different  indi- 
viduals. By  selection  these  varying  new  types  may 
often  be  made  to  breed  true,  though  interbreeding  of 
the  new  types  will  commonly  cause  a  reversion,  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent,  to  the  original  type — the 
mongrel  being  perhaps  unable  to  pass  the  turning 
point.  Insufficient  care  or  nourishment  may  also 
result  in  reversion. 

The  higher  types  of  modern  man  are  probably  also 
an  advance  of  a  similar  sort.  The  mind  after  going 
to  the  limit  of  the  original  man,  passes  a  point  of 


THE  ELEMENTS   OF  MIND  79 

unstable  equilibrium  and  enters  on  a  fresh  line  of 
advance  that  is  essentially  a  new  thing.  Whether 
an  individual  man  shall  pass  that  point  depends  also, 
at  least  in  part,  on  native  vigor  and  nourishment — 
mental  as  well  as  physical.  Hence  the  value  of  edu- 
cation and  other  environmental  influences.  Many 
men  and  women — notably  among  the  rich  and  the 
poor — spend  their  lives  below  this  critical  turning 
point.  For  those  who  do  pass  it,  the  experience  is 
described  as  being  like  the  falling  of  scales  from  the 
eyes;  new  expanses,  new  possibilities,  new  goals  for 
effort,  are  vaguely  felt;  life,  which  seemed  nearly 
complete,  now  seems  far  from  its  limits;  the  mind 


has  passed  from  unstable  equilibrium  into  a  new  and 
stable  direction  of  growth.  T 

We  here  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  freedom  differing 
from  that  mentioned  in  our  first  chapter.  Animals 
and  many  men  follow  their  impulses  of  the  moment; 
but  it  is  possible  for  ji  reasoning  man  to  foresee  that 


hy  a  rnmplpfinn  and  satiafjartym  pf  his  present  im- 
pulses  he  may  reach  a  higher  and  broader  plane  of 

_m_.  "    '  m    i —        "  ' —  —  i*~i  i  •  - 


thought  and  life;  and  by  a  judicious  use  of  his  en- 
vironment, and  relying  on  the  known  facts  of  evolu- 
tion, he  may  work  toward,  and  in  many  cases  finally 
acquire,  this  new  outlook,  of  which  he  has  not  even 
a  slight  realization  in  advance. 

Since  the  living  organisms  may  exist  though  im- 
perfect, the  advance  in  development  is  often  what 
might  be  described  as  in  a  straight  line.  It  moves 
straight  to  its  perfection.  The  change  for  a  new 
perfection  we  may  compare  with  a  turning  at  an 


80  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

angle.  We  should  explain  what  is  called  individual 
variation  as  a  variation  along  the  straight  line/  Some 
individuals  advance  farther,  others  less  far,  and  this 
means  a  physical  variation  corresponding  to  the 
mental  one. /'The  change  when  an  angle  is  turned 
and  a  new  sort  of  perfection  is  sought,  we  should 
identify  as  what  is  now  commonly  called  a  mutation. 
Different  organisms  which  had  made  the  same  muta- 
tion would  thus  still  have  the  individual  variations. 
Individual  variations,  however,  could  never  amount 
to  a  mutation,  though  Darwin  believed  that  they 
could.  By  selection,  individual  variations  may  be 
accumulated,  since  the  offspring -of  an  individual  pos- 
sessing a  certain  power  of  advance  toward  perfection 
would  be  apt  to  have  the  same  power;  but  such 
variations  are  never  perfectly  true,  and  must  be  con- 
stantly watched  and  the  unsuitable  individuals 
constantly  weeded  out.  White  pigeons  are  an  illus- 
tration. Most  of  our  breeds  of  animals,  however, 
are,  as  to  their  chief  characteristics,  mutations. 

We  now  return  to  our  original  theme. 

Every  satisfaction  of  an  impulse  is,  outwardly 
viewed,  a  movement  in  space.  This  is  true  not  merely 
in  digestion  and  the  like  and  in  the  movement  of 
limbs,  but  also  in^satisfactions  in  thinking.  Every 
change  in  mind  is  also  a  change  physically,  and 
means  a  movement  of  the  physical  constituents  of 
the  body. 

Again,  the  force  liberated  in  a  definite  impulse  is 
such  as  to  bring  about  the  satisfaction  of  the  impulse. 
We  can  here  again  only  state  the  law  and  the  fact. 


THE  ELEMENTS   OF  MIND  81 

Why  a  mature  animal  can  walk  or  fly,  for  instance, 
without  practice,  we  do  not  attempt  to  explain,  any 
more  than  we  attempt  to  explain  the  regularly  fitted 
actions  of  the  heart,  intestines,  and  brain.  The 
fitting  action  follows  the  impulse  regularly,  except  in 
immature  animals,  where  we  suppose,  of  course,  that 
the  impulse  also  is  correspondingly  immature.  There 
is  no  evidence  that  this  state  of  things  is  due  to  natural 
selection. 

Finally,  multicellular  organisms  repeat  the  lower 
phenomena,  and  influence  each  other  to  the  fusing 
impulse  and  to  sex.  In  the  latter  the  attraction  is 
part  for  part,  /.  e.,  there  are  only  two  individuals  con- 
cerned and  the  impulse  is  toward  a  union  of  every 
part  of  the  one  and  every  corresponding  part  of  the 
other.  In  the  fusing  impulse,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  is  no  recognition  of  parts,  but  the  tendency  is  to 
a  union  of  individuals  as  units,  and  many  may  be 
concerned  in  one  fusion. 

Of  the  nature  of  the  mutual  influencing  of  the 
higher  animals,  it  may  be  well  to  say  a  word.  We 
have  not  in  mind  anything  strange  or  mysterious. 
The  influencing  is  through  definite  forces,  so  far  as 
we  know — namely,  light,  sound,  smell,  etc.  The 
influence  through  these  forces  is  regularly  definite 
and  corresponds  to  the  impulses  of  the  mind  emitting 
them.  To  illustrate:  If  a  dog  were  to  be  brought 
up  quite  alone  to  maturity  and  were  then  to  be  taken 
through  the  streets  and  were  to  see  another  dog— 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life — the  impression  made 
upon  him  would  be  perfectly  definite.  He  would 


82  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

recognize  a  fellow-dog.  If  the  strange  dog  were  a 
female,  he  would  again  be  definitely  conscious  of 
sex.  These  things  do  not  have  to  be  learned. 
Neither  are  they  to  be  explained  through  the  evolu- 
tionary laws.  They  are  the  affecting  of  one  organism 
by  the  other,  through  light,  smell,  etc. 

Any  advance  toward  the  satisfaction  of  an  impulse 
is  felt  as  pleasure;  any  decrease  in  satisfaction,  as 
displeasure,  pain,  and  the  like. 

We  are  now  prepared  to  sum  up  the  instincts  of  the 
animals  and  man.  An  instinct  is  an  impulse  with 
its  inevitable  influences  and  actions.  We  shall  con- 
sider that  there  are  three: 

First.  The  fusing  instinct  of  the  cells.  This 
forms  and  shapes  the  body  and  tends  to  its  perfection. 
In  treating  of  it  we  shall  include  with  it  the  fusing 
instincts  of  the  molecules  and  atoms. 

Second.  The  sex  instinct  between  individuals. 
With  this  we  shall  include  the  sex  instinct  of  the 
cells,  of  which  it  is  a  repetition.  It  is  to  be  noticed 
that  this  instinct  is  impossible  of  complete  satisfac- 
tion. Its  ideal  would  be  a  union  of  all  the  cells  of 
the  one  individual  with  all  the  cells  of  the  other. 
This  sort  of  union  does  not  occur. 

Third.  The  fusing  instinct  between  two  or  more 
individuals  of  the  same  sort.  This  is,  of  course,  a 
repetition  of  the  fusing  instinct  of  the  cells.  It  is 
thus  related  to  our  first  instinct.  It  is  to  be  noticed 
that  this  instinct  also  is  impossible  of  complete  satis- 
faction. Individuals  of  the  grade  of  man  do  not  fuse. 

We  find,  then,  that  two  of  the  three  great  instincts 


THE  ELEMENTS   OF  MIND  83 

are  impossible  of  complete  satisfaction.  They  have 
not  on  that  account  less  significance  in  action  and 
struggle;  but  it  is  plainly  no  wonder  that  with  such 
a  proportion  of  unsatisfied  and  unsatisfiable  longings 
the  animals  are  the  active  part  of  the  universe,  and 
constantly  expending  energy  in  movement. 

In  our  further  discussion  it  will  be  necessary  to 
speak  often  of  these  instincts.  All  are  natural 
repetitions  and  combinations  of  the  fusing  instinct 
of  the  atom,  but  now,  to  distinguish  them  easily,  they 
must  have  names.  The  first  will  be  called  the 
MATERIAL  INSTINCT,  as  dealing  with  the  substance 
of  which  the  unit  is  or  may  be  composed;  the  second, 
the  PERSONAL  INSTINCT,  as  dealing  with  a  unit  of 
equal  rank,  but  looking  at  it  from  the  point  of  view 
of  its  individual  traits;  the  third,  the  SOCIAL  INSTINCT, 
as  dealing  with  collections  of  organisms  of  the  same 
rank.  Since  these  instincts  include  impulses  and 
desires  which,  perhaps,  have  heretofore  not  commonly 
been  classed  together,  it  may  be  well  for  the  reader 
to  be  slightly  on  his  guard,  for  the  present,  against 
the  ordinary  meanings  and  limitations  of  these  words. 
Each  instinct  will  be  discussed  more  fully  later. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND 

HAVING  thus  discussed  and  decided  upon  our  ele- 
ments, it  now  becomes  our  duty  to  give  some  notion 
of  how  the  mind  rises  out  of  its  simplest  state  and 
reaches  the  innumerable  forms  that  we  are  familiar 
with  in  the  higher  animals  and  in  man.  It  need 
hardly  be  said  that  we  consider  the  development  of 
the  animal  mind  to  have  gone  on  identically  with  the 
development  of  the  animal  body.  In  the  present 
chapter  we  shall  consider  the  course  of  this  develop- 
ment and  its  mechanical  means,  so  to  speak,  leaving 
for  future  discussion  the  consideration  and  partial 
enumeration  of  the  actual  details. 

In  the  earliest  stage  of  the  organism  all  the  cells 
appear  to  be  similar  or  even  exactly  alike.  This, 
however,  soon  ceases  to  be  the  case.  Following  the 
line  of  change  noticed  in  the  protozoa,  and  which 
seems  somehow  to  be  inevitable,  the  cells  begin  to 
develop  in  special  directions,  /.  *.,  some  perform 
special  duties  better  than  others.  According  to  our 
theory  of  the  unity  of  the  organism  as  a  whole,  it  is 
plain  that  if  one  cell  varies,  all  cells  must  vary  com- 


THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND           85 

pensatingly.  Hence,  if  one  cell  varies  in  the  direction 
of  the  assimilative  power,  the  other  cells  will  com- 
pensate by  having  less  assimilative  power;  and  so  on. 
As  these  partially  specialized  cells  divide  and  re- 
divide,  local  centres  and  fusions  are  formed;  which 
again  becoming  specialized,  the  various  special  organs 
of  the  body  come  into  existence.  All  such  develop- 
ment and  specialization,  however,  must  remain  under 
the  control  of  the  fusing  instinct  and  unity  of  the 
body,  /'.  £.,  the  Material  instinct,  and  can  only  take 
place  in  so  far  as  they  do  not  run  counter  to  it, 
though,  at  the  same  time,  each  local  fusion  is  part  of 
the  general  unity,  and  may  at  any  phase  become  a 
very  influential  part,  causing  a  general  alteration. 
Thus,  for  instance,  before  birth  some  shifting  of  in- 
fluence causes  the  absorption  of  the  gill-formations 
in  man;  and  at  adolescence  the  influence  of  the  sex 
cells  becomes  important. 

Nevertheless,  whatever  specialization  may  take 
place,  and  whatever  local  fusions  may  become  in- 
fluential, the  unity  of  the  organism  is  the  chief  fact. 
Embryologists  identify  organs  of  the  fully  developed 
body  even  in  the  first  divisions  of  the  cells,  and  often 
speak  as  though  these  early  divisions  were  separate 
entities,  as  they  often  speak  of  the  fully  developed 
organs  as  separate  entities.  This  is,  no  doubt,  neces- 
sary for  their  discussion,  but  gives  a  false  idea  of 
development.  The  unity  of  the  body-fusion  is  the 
elemental,  never-to-be-transgressed  fact,  and  the  de- 
velopment of  special  organs  is  Rt  every  stage  abso- 
lutely subject  to  it.  To  use  a  comparison  with  a 


86  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

machine,  the  body  at  every  stage  of  its  development 
must  work.  Its  development  is  like  the  historic 
development  of  a  machine.  Our  locomotive  is  a 
very  different  machine  from  that  of  Stephenson; 
new  inventions  securing  additional  efficiency  and 
economy  have  been  added  from  time  to  time;  but 
at  all  stages  the  locomotive  has  worked.  Regenera- 
tion is  like  the  mending  of  a  machine,  but  embryonic 
development  does  not  resemble  the  making  and 
assembling  of  the  parts  of  one;  its  course  always  re- 
sembles historic  development.  It  passes  from  the 
simple  to  the  complex,  and  at  every  stage  is  approxi- 
mately perfect  and  complete. 

Thus,  although  the  body  of  man  has  an  immensely 
complicated  system  to  bring  about  its  processes  of 
assimilation  and  purification — the  heart,  lungs,  liver, 
kidneys,  pancreas,  digestive  canals,  arteries,  veins, 
and  the  like — yet  this  has  been  possible  of  accomplish- 
ment because  each  step  was  possible  to  make,  while 
at  the  same  time  the  system  was  efficient  and  could 
provide  for  the  nourishment  and  purification  of  every 
cell  of  the  unit.  And  similarly  the  muscular  system 
has  at  every  stage  brought  it  about  that  the  freeing 
of  force  in  impulse  caused  action  tending  to  satisfy 
the  impulse.  So,  again,  the  organs  of  sense  and  the 
nervous  system  have  at  every  stage  responded  to 
external  influences  according  to  the  nature  of  those 
influences.  In  a  word,  the  primitive  nature  of  the 
organism  has  been  specialized  and  divided  up,  but  it  is 
still  the  same  primitive  nature  and  has  been  so  at  every 
stage  of  the  development — the  primitive  nature  has 


THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND          87 

been  analyzed  and  redistributed,  but  never  for  a  mo- 
ment has  its  essential  unity  been  disturbed  or  impaired. 

It  thus  becomes  possible  to  explain  all  the  complex 
phenomena  of  mind  in  man  according  to  the  simple 
rules  of  the  lower  forms  of  mind.  The  simple  powers^ 
and  qualities  are  resolved  into  their  elements;  the 
body  splits  them  up  as  a  prism  does  light,  and  has 
special  organs  for  each  constituent  element;  but  the 
sum,  the  range,  is  always  the  same,  and  no  detail  in 
the  complex  man-mind  must  be  left  unexplained  or 
without  its  presumed  equivalent  in  the  atomic  mind. 
In  fact,  such  explanation  must  be  made  to  cover  all 
existing  minds,  those  of  all  animals  as  well  as  man, 
and  those  of  all  abnormal,  diseased,  or  degenerate 
beings.  Nature  can  use  only  the  elements  in  it,  and 
all  forms  must  come  within  this  limitation. 

Thus,  for  example,  from  considering  the  produc- 
tion of  gastric  juices,  bile,  etc.,  it  would  be  possible 
to  know  in  advance  that  assimilation  in  the  unicellu- 
lar organisms,  and  even  lower,  takes  place  not 
simply  by  absorbing  atoms  and  molecules,  but  that 
it  occurs  in  part  outside  of  the  unit  through  the  send- 
ing out  of  certain  units  into  the  surrounding  medium, 
though  without  losing  hold  of  these  emissaries. 
This  is,  indeed,  the  fact  in  the  case  of  the  protozoic 
forms.  Similarly  it  might  be  considered  as  certain 
that  the  units  originally  sent  forth  resembled  in  cer- 
tain respects  all  the  secretions  of  the  digestive  canal; 
since  development  is  merely  specialization  and  in- 
creased efficiency  through  an  analysis  and  division 
of  the  original  comparatively  crude  act. 


88  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

More  important,  however,  for  our  purposes,  are 
the  explanations  of  the  various  subfusions  of  the 
body  in  sensation  and  movement.  Even  this  we  can 
only  treat  generally.  The  limbs  fall  into  units 
naturally,  as  we  have  shown,  and  the  sensations  from 
any  one  of  them  regularly  fuse.  If,  for  instance, 
I  put  one  foot  into  a  puddle  of  water,  the  sensation 
is  not  of  a  number  of  separate  wet  cells,  but  of  a  wet 
leg  or  foot.  The  details  fuse.  If,  now,  I  put  the 
other  foot  into  the  puddle,  I  have  again  a  single 
sensation.  But  the  sensations  from  the  two  feet  do 
not  fuse.  Each  leg  remains  distinct.  In  the  case 
of  the  eyes  and  the  ears  the  situation  is  different. 
Here,  not  only  do  the  sensations  in  each  organ  fuse, 
so  that  I  have  chords  and  timbre  in  music,  and  a 
single  picture  or  compound  colors  in  sight,  but  the 
sensations  from  the  two  eyes  or  two  ears  may  seem 
as  one,  and  will  seem  so  unless  they  differ  markedly. 
Such  subfusions,  or  local  fusions,  have  grown  up  with 
the  developing  body,  and  their  unity  is  to  be  thought 
of  as  having  existed  all  through  the  process  of  de- 
velopment of  the  delicate  differentiation  and  special- 
ization of  the  organs,  and  to  have  been  the  essential 
necessity  in  such  development.  So,  also,  the  unity 
of  the  brain,  and  its  sympathy  with  the  sense  organs 
and  the  muscles  and  with  the  impulses  of  the  body  in 
general,  are  to  be  thought  of  as  the  essential  condi- 
tion which  all  development  had  not  merely  to  leave 
untouched,  but  even  to  render  finer  and  more  eco- 
nomical. 

We  now  turn  to  the  actions  of  the  mind  itself. 


THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND          89 

A  chief  quality  of  the  brain,  /.  <?.,  of  the  most  im- 
portant part  of  the  nervous  system,  is  its  close  sym- 
pathy with  the  rest  of  the  body.  It  is  by  this  that  it 
becomes  the  faithful  intermediary  between  the  body 
and  the  external  world.  When,  for  instance,  the 
body  feels  hunger,  the  brain  has  the  impulse  and 
translates  it  into  action;  when  the  body  ceases  to 
feel  hunger,  the  brain  ordinarily  ceases  also.  Simi- 
larly with  sex  and  the  Social  impulse.  All  these  and 
similar  general  impulses  pass  from  the  body  to  the 
brain,  which  ordinarily  is  faithful.  (Special  and 
local  impulses,  however,  as  we  have  said,  it  hardly 
knows  about,  unless  they  are  of  a  nature  to  be 
general  or  unless  the  external  world  is  concerned.) 

When,  then,  sensations  are  felt  through  the  sense 
nerves,  the  brain  may  mate  them  with  impulses 
which  it  has  received  from  the  body  (or  which  it  has 
in  common  with  the  body),  and  the  impulses  are  thus 
made  definite;  thereupon,  as  a  result  of  a  return  flow 
of  impulse,  the  proper  muscles  and  other  cells  act. 
The  automatic  and  essentially  simple  nature  of  this 
whole  process  is  not  hard  to  conceive  of.1  First, 
however,  the  reader  must  rid  himself  of  the  thought 
that  the  brain  does  the  whole  work,  or  that  it  some- 
how differs  in  its  essential  powers  from  other  cells. 
It  cannot  differ,  and  does  not,  except  in  the  mechan- 
ical quality  of  speed.  Its  usefulness,  from  our  pres- 
ent point  of  view,  is  merely  this,  that  it  receives 
impulses  quickly  from  all  quarters,  and  transmits 
them  quickly  to  all  parts  of  the  body.  These  im- 

1  Cf.  "The  Physiology  of  the  Brain,"  J.  Loeb. 


90  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

pulses,   moreover,   are   to   be   thought  of  as   trans- 
mitted to  all  the  cells  of  the  body,  and  not  merely,' 
as  is  often  held,  to  certain  ones.     This  can  be  shown 
in  many  cases   (we  have  already  described  bodily 
fear),  and  doubtless  it  occurs  in  all. 

With  these  facts  in  mind,  the  operation  is  perhaps 
to  be  conceived  as  follows:  A  sound  wave,  to  take 
a  special  case,  arouses  an  impulse  in  the  end  of  the 
auditory  nerve,  which  impulse  passes  rapidly,  through 
sympathy,  to  the  brain.  Here  it  passes  to  all  the 
cells  of  the  brain,  arousing  a  full  sympathy  in  some 
cells  and  a  far  less  perfect  response  in  others,  accord- 
ing to  the  natures  of  the  cells,  and  the  quality  of  the 
perhaps  complex  impulse  received.  The  cells  which 
responded  most  strongly,  and  indeed  all  cells  which 
responded  at  all,  would  then  quickly  send  out  their 
impulses,  if  they  could,  to  all  parts  of  the  body;  and 
the  whole  body,  then,  by  a  similar  selection  of 
suitable  impulses  (/.  <?.,  of  those  with  which  each 
cell  was  sympathetic),  would  either  change  or  be 
unchanged;  or  would  change  in  part  and  be  un- 
changed in  other  parts.  Such  a  unity  and  simplicity 
of  the  body  (underlying  the  apparent  complexity 
caused  by  the  analytic  and  distributive  effects  of 
specialization)  the  experiments  of  Loeb  and  others 
clearly  indicate;  and,  indeed,  that  the  operations 
must  be  essentially  simple  might  have  been  surmised, 
since,  if  the  progress  of  science  has  revealed  anything 
strikingly,  it  is  the  simplicity  of  nature  in  its  essential 
workings.  It  is  the  poor  guesses  that  give  us  Ptol- 
emaic cycles  and  epicycles. 


THE  BUILDING   UP  OF  THE  MIND          91 

Before  going  further,  let  us  consider  two  details 
that  seem  to  come  in  best  here: 

It  may  be  asked,  what  is  the  nature  of  the  great 
differences  between  animals,  seeing  that  all  are 
developments  from  practically  similar  original  cells. 
We  reply  that  the  differences  are  more  apparent  than 
real — are  in  details,  not  in  essence.  Given  a  very 
slightly  different  original  cell,  all  the  observed  differ- 
ences follow.  A  slight  difference  of  cells  would,  in 
the  working  out,  result  in  a  different  shape  of  body. 
There  would  thus  be  a  difference  in  details  of  action, 
taste,  sex,  and  choice  of  companions.  But  in  the 
essential  impulses  there  are  no  differences.  All 
animals  assimilate  food,  all  move,  all  mate,  all  con- 
gregate, more  or  less. 

We  notice  here,  also,  that  all  local  or  subfusions 
are  to  be  ascribed  to  the  Material  instinct — the 
fusing  instinct  of  the  body  cells.  Even  the  sex 
centres  are  to  be  ascribed  to  this  instinct,  for  the 
Personal  instinct  does  not  bring  about  fusions,  but, 
rather,  tends  to  break  them.  Moreover,  the  sex 
centres,  though  with  a  tendency  to  independence 
(which  is  due  to  their  nature),  are  true  fusions  both 
in  themselves  and  as  part  of  the  larger  fusion  of  the 
body  unit.  In  a  word,  the  Personal  instinct  in  them, 
though  influential,  is  less  than  the  Material. 

We  pass  now  to  the  consideration  of  the  brain  as 
it  develops  through  memory. 

^Memory  is  the  power  to  revive  sensations  after  the 
actual  sensations  are  past.     Just  which  animals  first 


92  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

show  signs  of  memory  is  perhaps  not  agreed  upon. 
The  highest  animals  all  possess  it  to  a  marked  extent. 

The  exact  physical  basis  of  memory  is  not  clear, 
either,  but  that  blood  is  necessary  is  at  least  one 
certainty. 

We  suppose  that  what  enters  the  mind  by  the 
nerves  is  an  impulse.  In  the  cells  of  the  brain  this 
impulse  (received  through  sympathy)  satisfies  itself 
by  taking  some  atoms  from  the  blood.  A  feeling  of 
pleasure  thus  results,  which  we  have  identified  as 
so-called  "sensation."  After  the  cessation  of  the 
sympathetic  impulse,  the  cells  apparently  lose  again 
the  atoms  they  have  taken — but  not  altogether,  in 
every  case.  Some  of  the  molecules  in  some  cells  are 
permanently  changed.  These  have  thrown  ofF  some 
of  what  they  took,  but  not  all.  Consequently,  if  the 
same  impulse  enter  the  cells  again,  the  changed  mole- 
cules again  take  on  their  old  condition,  but  with  less 
effort  and  a  much  fainter  pleasure.  We  have  then 
a  double  sensation,  the  brilliant  one,  of  the  molecules 
which  quite  gave  up  their  atoms  and  so  feel  as  if 
they  had  never  felt  before;  and  the  far  less  brilliant 
one,  of  those  that  were  permanently  changed.  Such  a 
double  sensation  (or,  rather,  feeling)  we  conceive 
to  be  memory  in  its  simplest  form.  It  takes  place 
in  man  particularly  in  sensations  of  light,  hearing, 
and  touch;  but  far  less  freely  in  taste  and  smell. 

Now  sensation  (in  its  proper  sense)  may  make 
definite  an  impulse  in  the  atoms,  thence  in  the  mole- 
cules, thence  in  the  cells,  and  thence  in  the  body- 
mind.  If,  now,  in  addition  to  the  sensation,  we  have 


THE   BUILDING   UP  OF  THE  MIND  93 

the  fainter  impulse  of  the  memory  cell,  the  fainter 
impulse  will  also  regularly  make  definite  the  cell  or 
body-mind  impulses,  which  thus  may  be  somewhat 
stronger  and  more  distinct  than  an  original  and 
simple  impulse.  Hence  the  responses  may  be 
stronger. 

Moreover,  since  memory  impulses  are  more 
easily  aroused  than  "sensations"  (for  the  molecules 
or  cells  in  which  they  reside  are  definitely  changed 
in  the  direction  of  the  old  impulse),  they  may  be 
brought  to  vividness  by  the  impulses  of  the  body- 
mind,  and  without  present  sensations.  Being  thus 
aroused  and  having  satisfied  themselves  (as  we  have 
supposed),  the  pleasure  or  pain  (so-called  "sensa- 
tion") of  the  original  experience  is  renewed.  Thus 
the  impulse  of  hunger  may  arouse  the  definite  mem- 
ory of  food;  loneliness,  the  memory  of  individuals; 
etc.  By  this  method  we  are  able  to  call  up  again  the 
objects  that  have  satisfied  or  disappointed  an  im- 
pulse. But  it  is  to  be  noticed  that  no  impulse  can, 
without  experience,  call  up  the  sensation  of  an 
unknown  object  that  would  please  it.  Impulses  are 
quite  blind  until  sensation  has  made  them  definite; 
and  no  impulse  can  be  associated  with  any  object 
except  through  memory. 

It  may  be  well  to  describe  this  process  again. 
An  impulse  either  of  the  brain  or  of  the  whole  body 
arouses  the  same  impulse  in  a  memory  cell;  this 
cell,  which  has  been  altered  by  previous  experience, 
is  already  partially  satisfied  in  the  direction  of  the 
impulse  and  is  able  to  make  the  impulse  a  definite 


94  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

one;  the  cell  then  completes  itself  (we  have  sup- 
posed, by  the  assimilation  of  atoms  from  the  blood) 
with  a  definite  though  faint  sense  of  pleasure,  which 
is  like  what  is  ordinarily  called  sensation.  The  im- 
pulse thus  both  arouses  the  sensation  and  is  itself 
made  definite. 

Such  an  act  is  called  recollection.  It  depends 
directly  upon  impulse.  Hence  when  any  impulse 
is  much  aroused  we  recall  most  easily  the  memories 
connected  with  that  impulse;  and  on  the  other  hand, 
at  such  moments  we  are  best  preparing  for  future 
recollections.  A  new  sensation  at  such  times  is 
given  its  worth,  whereas  if  the  impulse  is  slack  or 
lacking  we  notice  little  or  nothing. 

Sensations  occurring  in  succession  in  time  regu- 
larly have  a  greater  or  less  amount  in  common. 
When,  then,  an  impulse  arouses  one  part  of  such  a 
series,  it  is  able  also  to  arouse  the  others  successively, 
either  forward,  or,  with  more  difficulty,  backward. 
We  may  thus  recall  the  whole  of  an  interesting  series 
of  acts.  Moreover,  since  the  same  object  (/'.  e.,  a 
molecular  impulse  or  combination  of  impulses)  may 
arouse  several  higher  impulses  at  once,  the  higher 
impulses  may  arouse  one  another  and  overlap;  and 
in  recollection  (though  there  is  regularly  one  chief 
impulse)  the  different  impulses  may  join  forces.  A 
good  story-teller  illustrates  this  overlapping,  for  he 
will  not  merely  tell  a  story  from  his  chief  impulse, 
but  will  color  and  broaden  it  as  he  proceeds,  now  with 
one,  now  with  another  subsidiary  interest. 

The  memory  of  events  in  sequence  is  of  the  great- 


THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND          95 

est  importance.  Memories,  as  we  have  noted,  have 
the  power  of  sensations  to  make  definite  an  impulse, 
though  they  do  this  ordinarily  with  far  less  power. 
Hence  a  memory  may  determine  the  course  of 
action  of  a  mind,  the  acts  being  the  same  as  those 
upon  a  previous  occasion.  This  is  a  common  ex- 
perience. Moreover,  this  may  occur  although  the 
present  sensation  is  not  in  all  respects  like  the  former 
one,  but  only  sufficiently  so  to  arouse  the  memory  of 
the  former  one.  Thus  in  the  classic  case  of  the  cow 
who  was  made  to  give  down  her  milk  by  the  sight 
and  touch  and  perhaps  smell  of  the  stuffed  skin  of 
her  offspring.  Mr.  Burroughs  supposes  that  the 
cow  was  completely  deceived  and  took  the  stuffed 
calf  for  her  living  offspring.  Such  a  supposition, 
however,  is  not  at  all  necessary.  The  stuffed  calf 
satisfied  and  made  definite  the  maternal  instinct 
enough  to  make  her  give  down  her  milk.  Further 
we  need  not  go.  So  a  man  may  smile  at  the  picture 
of  a  friend  or  dislike  a  man  who  faintly  resembles 
one  of  his  enemies,  though,  of  course,  no  deception 
takes  place.  The  arousing  of  a  definite  action  through 
memory  may  and  does  occur  if  the  similarity  of  the 
present  situation  is  sufficient  to  arouse  the  old  one. 
Trains  of  memories  also  act  with  deterrent  effect. 
If  a  series  of  experiences  ended  with  a  feeling  of 
negative  impulse,  /'.  ^.,  of  repulsion,  any  sensation 
calling  up  the  memory  of  the  series  would  also  make 
definite  the  negative  impulse,  which  accordingly 
would  tend  to  inhibit  the  positive  impulse  with  which 
the  series  might  have  begun.  It  might  inhibit  the 


96  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

whole  series  of  acts  and  would  certainly  have  influ- 
ence from  the  time  that  the  situation  had  developed 
enough  to  have  a  good  deal  in  common  with  the  final 
situation.  Here,  as  above,  a  general  resemblance 
between  a  present  and  a  remembered  sensation  may 
be  enough  to  determine  action.  Mr.  Lloyd  Morgan's 
birds,  that  had  eaten  nauseating  worms,  would  avoid 
everything  resembling  them. 

Animals,  including  man,  are  able  to  and  do  meet 
all  situations  in  life  without  any  previous  experience 
of  any  sort.  Instincts  alone  are  sufficient  for  this. 
But  in  the  more  complex  units  it  is  plain  that  while 
the  impulses  may  be  rightly  aroused  in  suitable 
situations,  they  may  also  be  wrongly  aroused.  The 
lower  units,  for  instance,  may  have  impulses  that 
are  not  at  all  suited  to  the  complex  units  of  which 
they  are  part.  The  molecules  may  be  eager,  say, 
to  unite  with  poisons  (so  called),  and  may  do  so  to  the 
destruction  of  the  body  unit.  Moreover,  the  end  of  a 
train  of  acts  may  not  be  visible  at  the  beginning. 
Hence  the  higher  animals  all  make  mistakes,  and  in 
so  far  as  such  mistakes  are  not  fatal,  it  is  clear  that  the 
memory  of  experiences  must  be  of  immense  impor- 
tance in  future  action.  And  this  is  so. 

Moreover,  many  of  the  acts  of  the  higher  animals 
are  so  intricate  and  so  remote  from  the  primal  in- 
stincts, that  the  desire  is  not  accurately  aroused  by 
the  sensation.  In  such  a  case  the  instinctive  action 
may  not  result  in  satisfaction.  In  a  repetition,  then, 
the  memory  of  the  first  experience  may  tend  to  make 
the  impulse  more  definite,  with  the  result  that  a 


THE  BUILDING   UP  OF  THE  MIND          97 

repetition  is  more  nearly  accurate  and  is  more  apt  to 
result  in  satisfaction  than  on  the  first  occasion. 
We  thus  learn  by  practice.  In  the  case  of  the  tech- 
nique of  any  art,  for  instance,  it  is  to  be  noted  that 
the  result  of  practice  is  not  a  physical  matter  but 
rather  a  clearing  up  of  the  mind.  The  artist  learns 
what  he  wants.  Technique  thus  requires  an  im- 
mense amount  of  repetition  for  its  acquirement,  but 
once  acquired,  commonly  remains.  Its  acquirement, 
moreover,  is  not  a  matter  of  mere  repetition,  but  of 
actual  interest  at  every  point,  a  good  teacher  awaken- 
ing the  impulse  and  making  it  more  definite  at  points 
where  it  was  wrongly  or  too  easily  satisfied. 

We  come  finally  to  reasoning.  In  the  higher 
animals,  and  especially  in  man,  remembered  ex- 
periences may  be  combined  almost  endlessly.  If  a 
number  of  experiences  on  one  subject  varied,  one 
being  satisfactory  in  one  respect,  another  in  another, 
and  a  third,  say,  in  a  third,  the  higher  minds  may, 
through  the  power  of  the  impulse  (which  would 
evidently  work  automatically  so  as  to  result  in  select- 
ing what  was  favorable),  combine  the  satisfactory 
parts  of  the  three  experiences  with  the  result  of  an 
imaginary  method  of  action  satisfactory  in  all  re- 
spects. All  synthetic  reason  is  essentially  this.  It 
is  a  combination  and  mating  of  memories  by  the 
impulses.  Of  course,  in  man  the  matter  becomes 
very  complex,  but  the  essential  principle  remains 
the  same.  We  hold  together  in  memory  the  things 
that  arouse  the  same  impulse;  we  arrange  a  reason- 
able series  of  thoughts  out  of  experiences  by  means 


98  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

of  an  impulse.  Reasoning  may  also  be  a  clearer 
defining  of  minor  impulses  for  the  satisfaction  of 
greater  ones;  we  may  learn  to  think  by  practising. 

Thus,  impulse  is  the  secret  of  reasoning.  This 
fact  is  often  overlooked  in  current  discussion.  Mr. 
Lloyd  Morgan,  for  instance,  compares  his  dog,  which 
could  not  learn  to  bring  a  long  stick  through  a  gap 
in  the  fence,  with  the  wren  who  will  take  a  long  twig 
through  a  hole  no  larger  than  a  shilling.  He  wonders 
at  the  intelligence  of  the  wren  and  the  stupidity  of 
his  dog.  But  the  essence  of  the  situation  is  in  the 
differences  in  impulses.  The  bird  is  interested  in 
getting  the  twig  into  its  box;  it  will  try  and  remember 
and  reason  until  it  succeeds:  but  the  dog  has  no 
interest  at  all  in  his  stick;  his  interest  is  in  his  master; 
and  the  mere  fact  that  he  will  do  so  unnatural  an 
act  as  to  fetch  the  stick  at  all  is  a  proof  of  a  far  higher 
conception  of  means  to  an  end  than  is  shown  in  the 
comparatively  simple  act  of  the  bird.  There  is  in- 
telligence in  both  cases  but  the  one  is  assuredly  not 
to  be  compared  off-hand  with  the  other. 

Much  of  our  talk  about  animals  is  of  this  sort. 
They  are  often  considered  unreasoning  because  they 
do  not  reason  where  they  can  have  no  interest;  and 
then  are  denied  reason  in  the  plainly  reasonable 
acts  they  carry  out  along  lines  where  they  are  in- 
terested. 

This  line  of  thought  again  is  valuable  in  education. 
The  youth  who  receives  the  highest  grades  will  not 
always  do  best  in  after  life.  He  may  be  doing  the 
work  to  please  the  instructor  or  for  some  other 


THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND  9<) 

impertinent  reason.  He  is  the  dog  fetching  the  stick. 
The  youth  who  will  succeed  in  the  line  of  the  study 
in  hand  is  more  like  the  wren;  his  interest  is  in  the 
work.  Obedience  and  discipline  are  an  important 
Social  experience  in  education;  an  attractive  school- 
mistress may  be  an  important  Personal  experience; 
but  for  the  development  of  scientific  ability  ?  interest 
in  the  work  is  necessary.  These  things  are  often 
not  clearly  perceived. 

We  now  turn  to  the  discussion  of  analysis.     This 
power  is  of  much  later  development  than  that  of 
synthesis.     It  is  probably  found  only  in  man  and 
even  in  him  is  not  much  developed  until  he  reaches 
the  higher  and  older  stages  of  civilization.     It  de-^ 
mands  a  well-developed   power  of  memory,  a  wide  ' 
range  of  experience,  and  language. 

The  classification  of  sensations  takes  place  accord- 
ing to  the  impulses  aroused  by  them,  for  the  aroused 
impulse  causes  the  recollection  of  those  sensations 
that  previously  aroused  it.  Hence  classification  is 
at  first  comparatively  simple,  e.g.,  into  objects  that 
may  be  eaten  or  not;  into  objects  satisfying  sex  or 
not;  into  those  satisfying  the  Social  impulse  or  not. 
A  large  mass  of  sensations  is  thus  at  first  quite  un- 
noticed in  detail,  since  it  satisfies  nothing  or  else 
satisfies  generally.  Experience  and  practice  make 
the  impulses  more  definite,  and  with  them  classifica- 
tion becomes  more  detailed.  Notice  how  much  of 
the  progress  of  the  world  has  taken  place  through 
the  practical  handicrafts,  arts,  and  professions. 

Through  experience  certain  objects  (enough  alike 


100  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

to  be  aroused  together  in  memory  through  some  one 
impulse  or  group  of  impulses)  become  classified  and 
related  to  man.  These  objects  will  finally  be  those 
of  one  definite  sort  or  species.  The  lion  and  the 
deer,  for  instance,  were  soon  identified.  Now,  in- 
dividual lions,  though  much  alike,  would  have 
individual  differences,  and  would  appear  different 
upon  different  occasions,  but  the  different  memories 
would  all  come  up  at  once,  being  aroused  by  one 
impulse  or  by  the  group.  Man  would  thus  have 
a  mass  of  memories  in  mind.  Of  this  mass  the 
clearest  points  would  evidently  be  those  that  were 
common  to  all  the  memories  or  that  made  most 
definite  some  impulse.  These  points  would  thus 
tend  to  be  the  ones  by  which  the  memories  would 
be  most  easily  aroused,  and,  when  speech  came  in, 
some  one  of  them  would  be  regularly  chosen  to  give 
to  other  men  the  idea  in  question.  An  imitation  of 
a  roar  might  call  up  to  every  one  the  lion;  or  a  sug- 
gestion of  speed,  the  deer.  Or,  on  the  other  hand,  if 
the  animal  had  received  some  artificial  or  chance 
name,  the  name  would  be  associated  with  these 
special  traits,  and  would  be  used  to  recall  them  even 
in  some  quite  different  animal.  The  strange  animal 
is  like  the  lion  or  deer,  the  likeness  being  understood 
at  once  as  being  in  roar  or  speed.  Words  would 
thus  gradually  and  through  long  experience,  come 
to  mean  special  traits. 

Analysis,  then,  we  think,  grew  up  through  the 
natural  classifications  made  in  many  experiences,  and 
the  attempts  of  language  to  keep  up  with  them  and 


THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND         101 

communicate  them.  Its  value  to  man  is  a  compara- 
tively late  discovery,  but  when  once  this  value  was 
discovered,  the  act  became  related  to  man's  impulses 
and  was  pushed  to  its  present  stage.  It  is  plain  that 
analysis  soon  leads  to  abstractions;  time,  space, 
individuals,  wholes,  goodness,  truth,  and  a  hundred 
others,  would  inevitably  come  forth  out  of  the  con- 
fusion. Truth,  for  instance,  is  the  satisfaction  of  the 
practical  instinct  (all  instincts  have  a  practical  side,  as 
we  shall  see)  by  the  everlastingly  reliable  connection 
of  thoughts  with  one  impulse.  Two  and  two  are 
four  because  under  all  circumstances  we  can  use 
four  for  them — they  come  to  arouse  the  same  im- 
pulse as  four.  Strychnin  is  poison,  because  if  we 
take  the  relation  to  it  that  we  take  to  poisons,  we  may 
be  perfectly  sure  of  the  course  of  events.  The  outer 
world  is  true,  because  it  is  reliable.  So,  also,  heaven 
exists — so  long  as  it  is  perfectly  satisfactory  to  the 
impulses  that  man  should  think  so. 

Of  all  masses  of  memories  probably  the  most  im- 
portant is  that  of  the  sensations  and  experiences  of 
the  body.  Not  all  of  these  are  noticed,  of  course; 
but  in  the  end  many  are  held  together  by  the  Material 
impulse,  and  the  result  is  an  enormous  aggregation 
which  may  be  more  or  less  aroused  in  all  experiences. 
This  aggregation  is  the  conception  of  self,  or  the 
Ego;  and  its  existence  and  relation  to  the  Material 
impulse  is  consciousness.  The  word  consciousness 
is  used  in  several  ways.  Sometimes  as  the  opposite 
of  the  state  of  a  man  who  has  been  knocked  on  the 
head;  sometimes  as  equivalent  to  sanity  or  sensitive- 


102  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ness  or  attention.  It  is  used  here  as  the  opposite  of 
the  condition  in  sleep.  A  sleeping  man  is  sane, 
sensitive,  and  quite  normal,  but  not  conscious.  He 
becomes  conscious  when  the  mass  of  memories,  we 
have  called  the  Ego,  becomes  more  vivid.  There 
are  degrees  of  consciousness  proportionate  to  the 
mass  and  vividness  of  the  Ego.  A  new-born  child 
has  no  consciousness  of  itself;  its  consciousness  is 
slowly  built  up.  In  general,  the  lower  animals  are 
to  be  thought  of  as  conscious  in  proportion  to,  and 
along  the  lines  of,  their  Material  memories  and 
reason. 

When  consciousness  is  used  as  meaning  attention 
— as  when  a  man  "unconsciously"  walks  or  hums  a 
tune — it  means  that  the  Material  impulse  is  not  fully 
aroused.  Some  other  impulse  may  be  lively  and 
exhibit  itself  in  the  tune;  for  it  is  quite  possible  to 
have  whole  trains  of  Personal  and  Social  thoughts 
without  arousing  the  Ego.  In  such  cases  acts,  even, 
may  be  done  without  entering  the  memories  of  the 
Ego.  Moreover,  an  impulse  may  cause  an  action 
as  a  sort  of  by-product,  the  main  part  of  its  force 
being  expended  upon  memories.  (What  often  hap- 
pens, no  doubt,  is  that  the  memory  of  the  act  done 
is  not  afterward  to  be  distinguished  from  the  mem- 
ories of  the  same  act  done  on  many  other  similar 
occasions.) 

Consciousness  is  defined,  again,  as  the  immediate 
knowledge  of  our  mental  states.  In  this  sense  the 
definition  may  mean  nothing.  The  mental  states  are 
the  mind.  If  we  distinguish  between  the  two  and 


THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND         103 

wish  to  make  out  the  connection  between  the  Ego 
and  a  present  mental  state,  i.e.,  how  we  know  that 
the  present  thoughts  belong  with  the  past  experiences, 
the  matter  is  capable  of  explanation.  Past  memories 
group  themselves  into  a  mass  because  of  their  rela- 
tion to  the  Material  impulse.  When,  then,  a  present 
sensation  makes  definite  that  impulse,  the  past  ex- 
periences also  arise  and  make  it  definite  in  the  same 
way  as  the  present  one.  The  whole  is  thus  one,  for 
all  has  the  same  relation  to  the  impulse.  The  ex- 
periences of  the  Personal  and  Social  impulses  enter 
the  Ego  by  taking  place  at  the  same  time  with  it — 
for  the  mind  may  feel  more  than  one  impulse  at  a 
time.  In  themselves,  however,  they  would  never 
have  created  it,  and  the  mind  is  never  so  unobservant 
of  itself  as  when  they  are  aroused. 

It  must  be  recollected,  however,  that  although 
memories  of  past  actions  and  experiences  are  aroused 
automatically  and  have  an  effect  automatically  upon 
present  actions,  the  valuation  of  them  and  the  recog- 
nition of  the  fact  that  they  are  records  of  an  actual 
past,  is  a  matter  of  experience.  The  knowledge  of 
the  historic  continuity  of  the  memories  of  the  Ego 
with  present  experiences — a  very  important  part  of 
consciousness — is  gained,  thus,  experimentally.  Chil- 
dren  are  often  quite  wrong  in  their  relations  to 
memories;  they  fail  to  distinguish  truth  from  fiction 
in  their  own  memories,  often  in  a  most  striking  way. 
The  sense  of  the  reality  of  things,  /'.  e.,  of  their 
continuity  from  the  past,  in  larger  matters,  is,  indeed, 
hardly  likely  to  be  acquired  before  maturity. 


104  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  consciousness,  and  indeed  all 
thought,  is  made  up  of  remembered  sensations  (so 
called;  really  satisfactions  and  dissatisfactions)  and 
other  satisfactions  and  dissatisfactions.  Impulses 
themselves  are  not  conscious;  but  only  their  satisfac- 
tions and  dissatisfactions.  Thus  we  do  not  know 
what  we  are  impelled  to  do  or  to  have  until  after 
experience.  An  infant  is  hungry  before  it  has  tasted 
food,  and  after  experience  only,  does  it  connect  the 
thought  of  food  with  its  impulse.  >  Our  impulses 
come  thus,  however,  to  have  names,  and  these 
names  are  taken  from  the  experiences  that  accom- 
pany them.  An  impulse  plus  such  a  memory  is  there- 
after a  desire.  The  impulse  that  turns  out  to  be 
satisfied  with  food  is  thus  called  the  desire  for  food. 
It  is  this  state  of  things  that  has  been  one  of  the  great 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  making  a  science  of  psychol- 
ogy. Men  have  valued  above  all  things  the  thoughts, 
for  these  alone  are  conscious.  They  have  studied 
and  classified  them.  But  the  unconscious  springs 
of  thought — the  motive  power  behind  the  reasoning 
— this  they  have  scarcely  recognized,  scientifically, 
as  even  existing.  Nor  is  it  easy  to  discover  the 
impulses,  for  they  are  disguised  and  overspread 
with  thoughts  almost  beyond  recognition,  and  these 
thoughts  are  often  quite  impertinent.  The  great 
mass  of  our  impulses  have  thus  never  been  named 
at  all.  A  sentence,  a  train  of  thought,  a  story,  a 
painting,  an  edifice,  may  possibly  satisfy  the  mind  in 
much  the  same  way,  but  how  was  it  possible  to  discover 
the  impulse  in  the  mass  of  these  special  instances  ? 


THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND         105 

A  case  worth  mentioning  in  some  detail,  for  its 
chance  association  of  memory  and  impulse,  is  that 
of  our  ordinary  relation  to  the  acts  of  the  body. 
The  movements  of  the  body  in  the  child  are  the  direct 
result  of  impulses,  according  to  our  axiom  that  the 
force  set  free  in  a  definite  impulse  tends  to  bring 
about  the  satisfaction  of  the  impulse.  The  child 
moves  its  limbs  to  a  purpose  long  before  it  notices 
that  it  has  limbs;  it  commonly  even  walks  and  runs 
before  it  has  what  we  call  a  conscious  knowledge  of 
them.  Each  act  is  as  simple  as  the  flying  of  a 
butterfly.  First,  then,  it  may  remember  objects  it 
found  satisfying.  Next  it  may  notice  that  when  it 
wants  things,  its  hand  goes  out,  takes  the  desired 
object,  and  brings  it  to  it.  Thus  the  outward  ap- 
pearances enter  consciousness  and  represent  the 
impulse — and  nothing  else  ever  does.  Man  knows 
only  his  acts,  and  really,  only  a  few  of  them,  because 
these  are  not  always  easy  for  him  to  observe.  When, 
now,  language  enters  in,  it  represents  the  phenomena 
observed.  The  man  says,  "I  raise  my  arm,"  "I 
move  my  leg,"  "I  swallow,"  and  the  like,  and  these 
words  are  connected  with  the  impulse  in  memory. 
In  the  end  the  words,  having  been  associated  with  the 
case,  may  arouse  the  impulse.  Others  say  to  him, 
"  Raise  your  arm,"  and  the  arm  is  raised.  The  man 
may  then  say,  "I  raised  my  arm  because  I  wanted 
to — because  I  was  told  to."  The  original  simple  act 
is  not  altered  by  the  thoughts  that  have  been  woven 
over  it;  it  is  still,  in  its  essence,  what  it  was  when  the 
child  used  its  arm  before  it  knew  it  had  one;  but 


106  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

observe  how  the  act  has  been  disguised  beyond  recog- 
nition! Or  consider,  for  instance,  such  an  act  as 
writing — how  the  impulses,  which  were  originally 
perhaps  mere  positive  and  negative  Material  im- 
pulses, resulting  in  movement  toward  or  from  a 
definite  sensation,  have  been  harnessed  through 
memory,  and  made  to  carry  out  the  most  delicate 
evolutions — perhaps  for  the  satisfaction  of  a  Personal 
or  Social  desire.  Nevertheless,  such  acts  are  to  be 
explained  as  above;  and  that  there  is  a  continued 
control  of  them  through  memory  may  be  demon- 
strated even  in  the  case  of  an  act  that  is  seemingly 
perfectly  simple,  as,  for  instance,  by  the  experiment 
of  writing  in  the  dark. 

Another  form  of  control  to  be  explained  simi- 
larly, is  that  of  the  force  exerted.  This  may  be 
delicately  regulated  through  the  associative  power  of 
memory.  The  muscles  may  be  aroused  to  exertion  or 
may  act  with  slight  power.  Nevertheless,  the  essence 
of  the  position  is  the  unconscious  impulse  satisfying 
itself  inevitably,  according  to  its  nature;  acting 
weakly  if  the  impulse  is  weak,  and  vigorously  if  it 
is  vigorous. 

It  will  be  noted  that  the  difference  between  an  im- 
pulse that  is  made  definite  to  be  satisfied  (through  a 
movement  of  the  molecules  of  the  brain)  with  the 
pleasure  of  a  lively  memory  or  arrangement  of 
memories;  and  one  that  is  made  definite  to  be  satis- 
fied by  the  movement  of  molecules  in  the  muscles 
(with  a  pleasure  in  the  result),  is  entirely  superficial. 
Brain  labor  and  physical  labor  are,  essentially,  the 


THE  BUILDING   UP  OF  THE  MIND         107 

same  thing.  Both,  viewed  from  within  are  the  satis- 
faction of  unconscious  impulses;  both,  viewed  from 
without,  are  molecular  changes;  both  are  brought 
into  consciousness  through  memory,  and  both  may 
have  a  false  show  of  consciousness  of  the  desire 
causing  them;  both  are  accomplished  by  the  expendi- 
ture of  more  or  less  energy;  both  have  word  associa- 
tions; both  give  pleasure.  The  great  difference  is 
in  their  manner  of  entering  consciousness — the  ones 
through  visual  and  tactual  associations  with  the  re- 
sults; the  others  through  direct  consciousness  of 
revived  memories,  which  are  their  pleasure.  What 
may  be  said  of  the  one  may  thus,  in  general,  be  said 
of  the  other.  Men  may  develop  the  powers,  in 
either,  by  exercise  and  practice;  may  be  worn  out, 
body  and  mind,  by  either;  etc.  Parallels  between 
them  are  not  analogies  but  real. 


Let  us  now  consider,  finally,  the  highest  positions  '  fJL 

of  the  mind.  These  are  regularly  reached  after  $CJr/tyi»3l 
education  or  (which  is  the  same  thing),  after  a  wide 
experience  in  affairs.  Education  and  the  first  acts 
of  a  man  in  the  world  are  determined  by  the  Social 
instinct.  One  thinks  and  does  chiefly  as  he  is  told  or 
as  he  finds  others  thinking  and  doing.  The  man  of 
strength,  however,  begins  to  relate  his  experiences  to 
himself.  He  finds  that  he  likes  this;  dislikes  that; 
and  is  indifferent  to  certain  other  things.  He  re- 
members these  relations,  and  in  the  end  reduces  them 
to  simpler  forms  and  builds  them  up  to  include  more 
complex  masses.  This  is  the  method  of  developing 
a  sense  of  values,  and,  in  the  complex  cases,  grasp. 


108  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

He  sloughs  off  some  of  what  he  had  taken  imitatively, 
and  grows  more  and  more  sincere.  (It  may  be  said 
that  the  value  of  any  educational  system  is  deter- 
mined, in  large  part,  by  the  amount  sloughed  off  by 
such  men.)  Thus,  gradually,  the  man's  individual 
character  emerges.  He  finds  himself,  as  the  phrase 
is,  though  this  phrase  is  more  often  used  of  some  one 
important  recognition  of  relation.  Such  a  develop- 
ment and  relating  of  thoughts  and  actions  and 
speech  to  the  impulses  may  go  to  great  lengths  but 
requires  time  and  strong  impulses.  The  sum  total 
of  such  a  mind  is  called  the  man's  temperament, 
style,  mood,  view  of  life,  or  the  like. 

The  difficulty  of  relating  oneself  emotionally  to 
the  great  facts  of  life  is  extreme.  Not  only  are  some 
of  them  exceedingly  complex,  as,  for  instance,  relig- 
ion and  government,  but  there  are  also  regions  where 
impulse  seems  forever  more  or  less  disappointed. 
Witness  Wordsworth,  who 

"  must  needs  confess 
That  'tis  a  thing  impossible  to  frame 
Conceptions  equal  to  the  soul's  desires;" 

(Excursion,  Bk.  IV,  135-7) 

It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  deeds  and  thoughts  of 
great  moment  are  almost  never  the  fruit  of  youth. 
The  youth  may  be  a  mathematician  or  an  inventor 
or  a  lyric  poet  or  an  extravagant  reformer;  the  moods 
of  a  Caesar,  a  Shakespeare,  or  a  Darwin,  however, 
are  quite  another  matter. 

As  with  the  individual  so  with  mankind.  Civiliza- 
tion is  the  accumulation  of  what  satisfies  the  human 


THE   BUILDING  UP  OF  THE  MIND 

character.  Each  of  its  truths,  conventions,  and 
inventions,  exists  because  it  satisfies  some  impulse, 
and  has  been  found  in  practice  to  be  thus  satisfac- 
tory. Civilization  is,  in  a  sense,  an  objectifying 
of  the  human  heart.  It  is  far  more  suited  to  our 
impulses,  far  more  true  to  our  natures,  than  a  natural  /pQl^/lJf 
environment  can  possibly  be.  No  doubt  some  de- 
tails of  it  are  mistaken  and  cause  discontent.  Con- 
stant improvements — constant  changes  to  make  it 
more  suitable  to  us — are  necessary;  nevertheless, 
it  fits  us  like  a  glove  on  the  hand,  as  compared  with 
the  life  of  savages.  And  as  often  as  discontent  and 
suffering  arise  from  its  details,  they  are  and  will  be 
sloughed  off  or  altered. 

This  view  of  civilization — no  doubt  the  true  one — 
is  curiously  at  variance  with  the  evolutionary  one, 
which  considers  impulses  and  instincts  as  the  result 
of  past  experiences — "inherited  memories"  they  are 
sometimes  called.  Memories  are  not  inherited,  jm- 
P"lSfiS  arp  No  doubt  animals  have  survived  because 
they  had  more  fitting  impulses  than  certain  other 
animals,  nevertheless,  instincts  are  not  the  result  of 
experience,  but  are  original.  Among  animals  they 
are  probably  never  entirely  satisfied  in  any  possible 
experience,  and  they  often  and  even  regularly  adapt 
themselves  to  experiences  that  are  absolutely  novel. 
This  will  be  elaborated  in  a  later  chapter. 

We  will  now  take  up  a  matter  of  rather  distant 
consequence  to  our  theory,  but  which  it  is  hardly 
advisable  to  pass  over.  The  reader,  however,  may 
do  so,  if  he  chooses,  without  serious  loss. 


CHAPTER  V 
FIRST  TRUTHS-KANT 

WE  have,  until  now,  taken  for  granted  our  basis  of 
realistic  philosophy,  because,  although  a  preliminary 
discussion  of  it  might  have  been  possible,  it  would 
of  necessity  have  encountered  much  difficulty  and 
obscurity,  and  so  have  remained  inconclusive  until 
the  main  elements  of  our  position  had  been  made 
clear  in  detail.  Now,  however,  we  have  reached  a 
point  where  the  consideration  of  these  matters  cannot 
well  be  delayed  longer,  if  it  is  to  be  taken  up  at  all. 
But  as  all  philosophies  and  religions  rest  ultimately 
upon  psychological  bases,  they  fall  inevitably  into 
the  realm  we  are  reasoning  about.  A  thorough- 
going system  of  psychology  must,  therefore,  be  also 
a  philosophic  and  religious  (or  theological)  system. 
The  exact  sciences,  treating  only  of  matter,  do  not 
encounter  the  philosophers  so  inevitably. 

Philosophy  is  the  attempt  to  find  a  ground  for 
religion,  and  is  usually  a  compromise  between  science 
and  the  received  religious  beliefs/It  is  an  attempt 
to  pass  through  science  into  religion.  We  need  not 
consider  the  proposals  in  this  direction  made  before 


no 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  111 

science  really  existed.  They  have  long  since  fallen 
of  themselves.  But  it  may  not  be  useless  to  run  over 
in  some  slight  detail  at  least  one  of  the  modern 
systems — not  to  oppose  it  in  its  essentials  (all  such 
systems  will  fall  or  remain  without  the  need  of  op- 
position), but  to  bring  out  more  clearly  through 
comparison  the  possibilities  and  range  of  our  own. 
For  our  purposes,  then,  we  shall  consider  the  ele- 
mentary position  outlined  in  Kant's  "Critique  of 
Pure  Reason." 

Kant's  position  may  be  said  to  owe  its  existence 
to  the  problem  of  free-will.  He  perceived  that  the 
mind  feels  itself  free,  whereas  the  body  obeys  the 
laws  of  matter.  Not  being  able  to  believe  both  of 
these  facts,  he  chose  the  first  as  true.  This  could 
only  be  done  by  practically  denying  the  laws  of 
matter.  Now,  we  must  believe  in  the  laws  of  matter 
and  yet,  said  he,  it  is  a  mistake — a  necessary  mistake 
therefore.  Hence  there  are  certain  mistakes  that  are 
necessary.  These  he  conceived  to  be  caused  by  the 
nature  of  the  mind.  The  nature  of  the  mind  causes 
us  inevitably  to  take  a  view  of  the  external  world 
which  is  consistent  with  itself  (since  it  springs  from 
the  unity  of  the  nature  of  the  mind),  and  yet  is  utterly 
without  objective  sense.  These  inevitable  mistakes 
he  then  identified.  They  must  have  as  their  mark 
the  quality  of  necessity,  and  when  applied  to  the 
greatest  matters  may  result  in  absurdities  or  contra- 
dictions. Kant  thus  distinguished  two  worlds — the 
world  as  it  inevitably  appears  to  us,  and  the  world  as 
it  is.  The  world  as  it  is  cannot  be  known  to  us,  for 


112  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

all  knowledge  of  it  is  determined  (and  vitiated) 
by  the  nature  of  the  observing  mind.  Neverthe- 
less, in  the  case  of  the  mind  itself  we  can  know 
something  as  it  is,  for  although  the  mind  cannot 
observe  itself  directly,  but  only  its  thoughts  (which 
are  a  delusion),  yet  it  is  possible  (here  Kant  seems  to 
have  juggled  a  little)  to  argue  from  the  existence  of 
the  moral  sense  the  existence  of  free-will.  Free- 
will is  thus  a  power  of  the  mind  in  itself,  while  the 
obedience  to  law  is  only  an  appearance  necessitated 
by  the  nature  of  our  powers  of  observation  and  of 
thought.  From  free-will  he  argued  a  moral  God  and 
immortality.  It  is  evident  that  free-will,  God,  and 
immortality  are  thus  the  only  thing  of  first  importance 
,  in  life,  since  everything  else  is  essentially  a  necessary 
delusion.  We  will  not  trouble  ourselves  about  them, 
however,  because  it  is  pretty  generally  recognized 
that  they  do  not  follow  from  Kant's  premises.  It  is 
the  premises  that  have  gained  a  much  wider  ac- 
ceptance, and  these  are  a  study  of  the  nature  of  the 
mind  and  of  the  credibility  of  its  knowledge. 

The  ultimate  ground  from  which  to  argue  the 
question  is  found  in  our  statement  that  mind  knows 
nothing  of  matter.  All  our  knowledge  is  inevitably 
that  of  our  own  psychic  life.  We  inevitably  have  a 
practical  belief  in  a  world  corresponding  to  our 
thoughts  and  visions,  but  it  is  plain  that  the  real 
world  and  our  thoughts  and  visions  of  it  are  not  the 
same  thing.  It  is  impossible,  and  always  will  be,  to 
prove  absolutely  that  there  is  anything  outside  of  us 
corresponding  to  our  thoughts.  The  thought  and 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  113 

the  thing  thought  of  must  always  be  two,  and  their 
connection  a  matter  of  reasoning — which  may  be 
false. 

This  being  so,  it  is  evident  that  several  positions 
are  possible.  Either  (i)  that  there  is  something  cor- 
responding to  our  thoughts — which  are  true  so  far  as 
they  go;  or  (2)  that  there  is  nothing  corresponding 
to  our  thoughts — which  are  false;  or  (3)  that  some 
of  our  thoughts  are  true  and  some  inevitably  false. 

The  first  position  is  the  natural,  simple  one.  It 
is  essentially,  also,  the  position  commonly  taken  by 
Christianity.  "We  know  in  part."  The  second 
cannot  possibly  be  disproved  and  is  thus  perfectly 
tenable.  Our  thoughts  and  sensations  may  be 
utterly  false.  In  this  case,  however,  the  theory  must 
go  the  whole  length  and  include  the  knowledge  of 
self.  Absolutely  nothing  must  be  left  as  sure.  The 
world  is  then  an  utter  delusion — or  may  be.  Any 
belief  may  be  a  matter  of  faith;  nothing  can  be 
proved. 

These  two  positions  evidently  go  together.  If 
everything  is  true  or  everything  a  delusion  in  the 
world  of  experience,  that  world  remains,  so  far  as  its 
existence  is  concerned,  intact  within  itself. 

Kant  and  his  followers,  however,  take  the  third 
position,  in  that  they  hold  that  science  can  never 
explain  nature;  that  the  phenomena,  although  real, 
will  not  admit  of  scientific  explanation;  and  that, 
while  we  may  believe  in  an  external  or  seemingly 
external  world,  it  is  necessary  to  explain  it  by  sup- 
posing that  it  is  in  some  of  its  essentials  a  sham. 


114  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

They  hold  that  their  position  is  an  unavoidable  one, 
and  that  the  simple  and  naive  method  of  solution 
involves  us  inevitably  in  problems  that  cannot  be 
definitely  solved,  since  they  can  be  solved  as  well  in 
one  way  as  in  another.  "^t^xi— • 

The  chief  of  these  problems  is,  as  we  have  said,  the 
difficulty  in  harmonizing  the  belief  in  the  laws  of 
nature  with  that  in  the  power  of  the  mind  as  a  cause. 
Every  change  in  nature  must  have  a  natural  cause — 
must  take  place  according  to  a  law  of  nature.  The 
movements  of  the  body  must,  therefore,  take  place 
according  to  laws  of  nature.  How,  then,  can  they 
take  place  as  caused  by  the  will  of  man  ? 

Our  theory,  as  we  have  seen,  settles  this  matter 
easily  enough.  The  laws  of  nature  are  merely  an 
observed  regularity  of  action.  They  are  discovered 
to  be  regular  because  matter  is  composed  of  atoms 
large  numbers  of  which  are  exactly  alike,  so  that 
phenomena  often  recur.  The  nature  of  the  atoms 
is  thus  the  secret  of  the  laws  of  nature.  The  sup- 
position of*  a  mental  atom  with  impulses — atoms  that 
are  alike  being  alike  mentally — clears  the  whole 
situation.  When  an  atom  acts  it  is  obeying  its  im- 
pulses; when  a  collection  of  atoms  acts  (as  in  man), 
it,  too,  is  obeying  its  impulses.  The  details  are  cer- 
tainly not  clear;  we  have  no  way  of  examining  the 
atom;  but  the  essential  contradiction  is  gone.  It 
lay  in  the  meaning  given  to  "laws  of  nature,"  and  this 
meaning  arose  from  the  separation  of  man  from 
lower  nature. 

In  Kant's  day  our  position  might  fairly  have  been 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  115 

called  a  mere  fancy,  but  that  is  no  longer  the  case. 
If  the  last  century  of  science  has  proved  anything,  it 
has  proved  the  unity  in  origin  of  man  and  the  lower 
animals  and,  ultimately,  matter.  It  is,  therefore,  no 
mere  fancy  to  relate  them  mentally.  So  soon  as  the 
miraculous  element  in  science  dropped  out,  it  became 
evident  that,  if  a  mass  of  atoms  possessed  mind,  the 
simple  atom  must  also  possess  it;  and  this  belief  has 
been  accepted  by  men  exactly  in  proportion  to  their 
scientific  knowledge  and  character.  Monism  has 
been  regularly  recognized  as  the  position  most  in 
accord  with  science.  That  it  has  never  been  worked 
out  has  been  the  great  bar  to  its  general  acceptance. 

Kant  found  three  other  antinomies,  as  he  called 
them,  besides  that  of  free-will.  They  are,  however, 
mere  playing  on  words.  No  unprejudiced  mind  could 
possibly  be  in  doubt  as  to  their  solution,  and  no  fair 
arguments  could  really  mislead  any  one  as  to  them. 
Since,  however,  they  are  often  stated  as  real  diffi- 
culties, and  are  taken  for  granted  on  the  authority 
of  Kant's  word,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  run  over 
them. 

He  holds,  first,  that  he  can  prove  that  the  world  is 
limited  in  time  and  in  space.  It  is  clear  that  he 
cannot  prove  any  such  thing,  since,  however  far  we 
were  to  go,  the  world  might  extend  farther,  space 
and  time  being  unlimited.  His  argument  as  to  time 
is  as  follows: 

Suppose  that  the  world  had,  so  far  as  time  is  con- 
cerned, no  beginning.  Then  to  each  given  point  an 
eternity  must  have  elapsed.  But  the  endlessness  of 


116  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

a  sequence  consists  in  this,  that  it  can  never  be 
completed.  Therefore,  an  endless  past  time  is  im- 
possible, and  a  beginning  of  the  world  a  necessary 
condition  of  its  existence.  Q.E.D. 

The  practical  answer  to  such  an  argument  is  not 
difficult.  The  argument  itself  seems  to  be  that  by 
taking  a  given  point  in  time,  we  bring  it  to  an  end; 
and  that  if  it  has  one  end  it  must  have  another.  But 
we  do  not  find  an  end  by  taking  a  given  point;  time 
has  no  end,  or  else  it  has  an  infinite  number.  More- 
over, even  though  we  found  one  end,  it  would  not  be 
a  proof  that  there  was  another.  Nor  does  any  one 
believe  (except  as  a  theological  dogma  may  influence 
him)  that  time  begins  or  ends. 

His  argument  as  to  space  is  this: 

If  we  think  of  the  world  as  a  real  whole,  we  must 
think  of  it  as  completed,  that  is,  as  of  a  fixed  size. 
But  if  it  is  of  a  fixed  size,  we  have  only  to  go  on  far 
enough  and  we  will  come  to  the  end  of  it.  There- 
fore, it  must  have  limits  in  space. 

Here  the  question  is  begged  in  the  word  "fixed," 
which  is  used  as  meaning  limited.  We  may  reach 
the  end  of  the  world  in  space  (Kant's  world  is  the 
universe,  of  course),  but  that  we  must  reach  it,  it  is 
impossible  to  prove,  since  no  matter  how  far  we 
went,  it  might  extend  beyond.  It  may  be  of  fixed 
size  and  yet  unlimited.  There  is  no  contradiction 
in  the  words. 

The  second  antinomy  concerns  the  divisibility  of 
matter.  Kant  holds  that  he  can  prove  that  in  divid- 
ing a  substance  we  must  reach  a  limit — a  palpable 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  117 

absurdity,  like  those  stated  above.  His  proof  is  as 
follows : 

Suppose  that  compound  substances  did  not  con- 
sist of  simple  parts.  Then  when  the  compound  was 
reduced  in  thought,  there  would  remain  no  com- 
pounds and  (since  there  are  no  simple  parts)  no 
simple  parts  either.  Nothing  would  be  left,  there- 
fore no  substance  at  all.  Either,  then,  it  is  impossible 
to  think  of  a  compound  as  entirely  reduced,  or  there 
must  remain  something  uncompounded,  /.  e.,  the 
simple  parts.  In  the  first  case,  however,  the  com- 
pound would  not  be  composed  of  substances  (for 
in  substances  the  compounding  is  only  a  chance 
relation,  and  it  is  not  a  necessity  that  they  should 
be  parts  of  a  larger  unit).  But  this  contradicts  our 
supposition,  therefore  there  remains  only  our  second 
case;  there  must  remain  something  uncompounded, 
i.e.,  the  simple  parts. 

Here  the  error  is  in  the  words  in  parentheses.  The 
conception  of  a  substance  it  is  true  does  not  include 
the  thought  of  being  part  of  a  larger  whole.  It  does, 
however,  include  the  thought  of  being  a  whole  of 
smaller  parts;  for  it  includes  the  thought  of  extension. 
Every  substance  must  occupy  space;  and,  as  occupy- 
ing space,  every  substance,  by  the  nature  of  our  con- 
ception of  it,  must  be  composed  of  theoretical  parts 
and  be  theoretically  divisible.  Theoretically,  then, 
substances  are  infinitely  divisible.  Actually,  the 
division  may  stop  at  any  point.  Wherever  it  stops 
the  substance  or  force  remaining  must  occupy  space. 

As  to  these  antinomies  there  is  no  chance  of  real 


118  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

confusion,  however  words  are  twisted.  The  third 
antinomy  is  the  real  difficulty,  namely,  as  to  the 
relation  of  mind  to  matter.  It  is,  however,  as  we 
have  shown,  capable  of  settlement. 

The  fourth  and  last  is  one  of  special  interest  in 
several  respects.  It  is  the  conflict  between  the  two 
views  that  the  world  must  have  a  first  cause  (God); 
and  that  it  cannot  have  a  first  cause.  He  claims 
to  prove  both  views. 

Let  us  note,  to  begin  with,  Kant's  idea  of  the  world. 
He  claims  that  by  the  necessity  of  our  natures  we 
are  compelled  to  think  of  the  universe  as  a  oneness. 
We  do  not,  he  says,  derive  this  idea  from  experience, 
though  experience  agrees  with  it.  As  in  all  such 
cases,  it  is  the  mind  that  determines  the  experience, 
which  experience,  therefore,  must  agree  with  the 
mind,  else  we  could  not  have  it  as  experience.  Now 
Kant's  idea  of  the  oneness  of  the  universe  is  not  that 
it  can  be  held  together  in  thought,  but  that  it  is  one 
in  itself.  Its  parts  influence  each  other,  complete 
each  other,  presuppose  each  other.  In  a  word,  the 
universe  is  an  organism  and  seems  so  to  us,  neces- 
sarily. 

This  curious  thought  (taken,  probably,  from  reli- 
gion) has,  of  course,  absolutely  no  foundation  in 
fact.  The  universe  is  not  an  organism  so  far  as  we 
have  as  yet  discovered;  its  parts  do  not  mutually 
complete,  presuppose,  or  influence  each  other.  It 
is  an  aggregate  of  units,  each  going  ahead  of  itself. 
jGravity  holds  our  solar  system  together,  it  is  true, 
and  may  be  an  influence  reaching  to  other  systems; 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  119 

but  gravity  does  not  make  a  true  unit  of  the  units  it 
holds  together.  Kant's  proposition  to  treat  the  uni- 
verse as  an  interacting  unit,  and  from  it  to  derive 
a  free  cause  corresponding  to  the  unit,  is  thus  mis- 
taken in  its  terms,  and  need  not  be  argued. 

But,  it  will  be  asked,  does  not  this  aggregation 
of  units  called  the  universe,  need  an  explanation  ? 
Does  not  its  present  condition  imply  certain  past  con- 
ditions, and  those  others  before  them,  and  so  on  back 
to  a  beginning  ?  Certainly,  but  that  is  only  a  ques- 
tion of  conditions,  not  of  essentials.  The  world  at 
present  is  out  of  balance,  especially  as  to  the  distribu- 
tion of  force.  There  is  a  constant  shifting  of  influ- 
ences toward  a  balanced  condition.  How  the  un- 
balanced condition  came  about  must  certainly  be 
explained  if  possible.  The  question,  however,  is 
merely  an  historical  one,  and  would  be  answered  by 
explaining  how  the  sun  came  to  be  so  hot.  For 
such  a  question,  moreover,  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine 
an  answer.  A  collision  with  another  heavenly  body 
would  have  caused  it.  And  the  other  body,  where 
did  it  come  from  ?  From  the  same  place  that  some 
of  the  comets  come  from — the  infinite  depths  of 
space.  There  is  no  need  of  further  explanation. 
Since  space  is  infinite,  and  since  a  moving  body  will 
move  until  it  is  stopped,  the  colliding  bodies  may 
both  have  been  moving  forever. 

At  this  point  we  may  as  well  take  note  of  another 
matter.  Undoubtedly,  some  reader  of  the  above  has 
said  to  himself,  "Very  well,  but  that  does  not  satisfy 
me.  There  must  be  some  better  explanation  than 


120  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

that."  There  may  very  well  be  a  better  explanation, 
though  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  any  can  be  made 
without  using  the  fact  of  infinite  space.  The  more 
important  matter  is  that  the  explanation  does  not 
satisfy  the  mind.  In  its  form  the  explanation  is  un- 
assailable; it  is  the  feeling  we  have  that  makes  us 
wish  to  refuse  it.  No  mind  capable  of  conceiving  of 
vastness  likes  the  idea  of  infinite  space  or  infinite 
time.  The  great  starry  spaces  of  heaven  filled  Kant 
with  awe,  and  Pascal  with  despair,  and  many  another 
mind  has  been  affected  similarly  by  them.  This 
matter  of  feeling  will  come  up  again,  but  we  may 
notice  here,  that  whatever  our  awe  or  our  despair, 
those  great  spaces  exist  and  are  without  end;  and 
they  are  not  to  be  denied  merely  because  the  mind 
faints  and  fails  in  its  attempt  to  grasp  them. 

We  conclude,  then,  that  Kant's  antinomies  are  not 
of  intellectual  difficulty,  but  that,  so  far  as  they  cause 
or  have  caused  trouble,  they  appeal  to  our  feeling 
of  dissatisfaction  in  handling  matters  that  run  into 
infinities  and  (hence)  cannot  be  fully  grasped.  There 
is  no  intellectual  difficulty  because,  after  all,  an 
infinity  is  only  an  indefinitely  large  finite,  and  can 
be  dealt  with  exactly  as  the  finite  cases. 

We  turn,  then,  to  Kant's  theory  of  the  relation  of 
the  mind  to  external  experiences.  He  held  that  our 
mental  classifications  are  due,  not  to  the  nature  of  the 
experiences,  but  to  the  nature  of  the  mind.  Not  all 
classifications  are  equally  plain  in  principle.  The 
classification,  for  instance,  that  gives  us  the  concep- 
tion "dog"  is,  says  Kant,  "an  art  concealed  in  the 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  121 

depths  of  the  human  soul,  whose  true  springs  we  shall 
probably  never  succeed  in  guessing  from  nature  and 
laying  bare  to  the  view."  Nevertheless,  he  held  that 
the  conception  dog  is  in  the  mind  before  the  dog 
appears,  and  is  merely  called  into  consciousness  by 
the  appearance  of  the  dog.  Other  conceptions  are 
much  clearer  in  principle.  The  conception  of  the 
relation  of  objects  called  "cause  and  effect,"  he 
thought,  could  never  have  been  discovered  in  experi- 
ence— since  we  say  of  certain  phenomena  that  they 
must  have  causes,  although  we  may  have  no  way  of 
knowing  in  the  least  what  the  causes  may  be.  We 
add  the  causes  and  say  they  must  exist.  Such  a 
view  of  experience — that  its  relations  are  absolutely 
necessary — could  not  have  arisen,  says  Kant,  out  of 
the  mere  memory  of  the  repetition  of  experiences. 

Perhaps  the  theory  can  be  made  clearer  by  con- 
sidering a  case  of  another  sort.  Let  us  take  the 
idea  of  justice:  An  action  is  presented  or  related 
to  me,  and  I  may  say  of  it,  "That  is  not  just — does 
not  agree  with  my  idea  of  justice."  "But,"  says 
some  one,  "it  is  the  universal  practice.  Have  you 
ever  known  any  one  to  act  differently  ?"  And  I  may 
reply," I  never  have,  but  for  all  that  it  does  not  square 
with  my  idea  of  justice."  If  I  am  asked  what  my 
idea  is,  or  where  I  got  it,  I  cannot  tell;  nevertheless, 
I  am  perfectly  clear  that  some  things  are  to  be  classi- 
fied as  justice  and  others  as  injustice.  The  idea, 
says  Kant,  evidently  exists  in  the  mind  in  advance 
of  experience,  though  it  is  aroused  only  by  experi- 
ence. In  fact,  says  he,  there  is  no  such  thing  as 


122  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

justice;  it  is  merely  an  idea,  leading  us  on,  but  never 
completely  realized. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  our  theory  and  explain  how  it 
deals  with  these  situations.  The  essential  difference 
between  it  and  Kant's  is  this:  that  he  conceives  of  the 
mind  as,  first  of  all,  intellectual.  It  has  conceptions, 
ideas,  etc.,  in  advance  of  experience,  though  only  to 
be  aroused  by  experience,  /.  e.y  in  advance  potentially 
and  really,  but  not  temporally.  The  mind  is  like  a 
frame  of  pigeon-holes,  into  which  experience  must 
fit,  if  it  is  to  be  experience  at  all.  The  form  of  ex- 
perience, according  to  him,  exists,  not  in  the  experi- 
ence, but  in  the  pigeon-holes.  Our  theory,  on  the 
other  hand,  conceives  that  what  exists  in  the  mind 
prior  to  all  experience  is  a  number  of  impulses,  in- 
stincts, interests,  and  the  like.  Thoughts,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  put  in  the  category  of  sensations. 
The  male  bird  that  sees  the  female  may  be  said  to 
have  a  thought  of  her,  though  he  may  never  have 
seen  her  or  any  other  female  bird  before;  that  this 
thought  is  felt  in  a  certain  relation  or  significance  is 
due  not  to  any  latent  thought  in  his  mind  before  the 
experience,  but  to  the  impulse  of  sex,  which  the  sen- 
sation makes  definite.  Kant's  "idea"  of  justice  is, 
according  to  this  theory,  not  an  idea,  but  an  impulse. 
It  is  like  the  sex  of  the  bird.  The  various  cases 
brought  before  the  impulse  of  justice  are  to  be  classed 
with  the  sensations  affecting  the  bird.  These  may 
either  satisfy  it,  or  partially  satisfy  it,  or  displease  it, 
just  as  different  females  may  affect  variously  the  sex 
of  the  male. 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  123 

Classification  thus  ceases  to  be  a  mysterious  art.  A 
dog  makes  definite  certain  impulses.  Another  dog 
makes  definite  a  number  of  the  same  impulses.  The 
latter  impulses  awaken  the  memory  of  the  first  dog. 
Thus  the  classification  takes  place,  as  it  were,  auto- 
matically, through  the  impulses  the  sensations  arouse 
in  common.  But  that  these  impulses  were  in  ad- 
vance connected  in  the  proportions  necessary  to  the 
conception  dog,  is  a  wholly  unnecessary  and  gratu- 
itous assumption. 

If,  now,  thoughts  are  to  be  put  with  sensations 
(sensations  being  the  simplest  thoughts),  it  is  evident 
that  the  mind  can  .have  no  thoughts  except  of  the  ex- 
ternal world,  and  such  compounding  of  these  as  the 
impulses  may  make.  All  thoughts  must  be  the  fruit 
of  the  experience  of  the  external  world.  The  es- 
sential import  of  every  thought,  however,  must  be 
the  impulse  awakened  by  it,  i.e.,  its  relation  to  us. 

Hence,  in  examining  such  a  concept  as  that  of 
cause  and  effect,  we  seek  its  origin  and  meaning  in 
experience  on  the  one  hand,  and  in  the  impulses  on 
the  other. 

It  may  be  well  to  examine,  in  some  detail,  the 
origin  of  the  thought  of  cause  and  effect.  To  do 
this  we  must  begin  at  the  beginning — in  memories. 

When  man  has  reached  the  point  of  remembering 
his  experiences,  the  memories,  as  we  have  seen,  af- 
fect future  action.  A  situation  that  calls  up  a  mem- 
ory, will  be  treated  like  the  former  situation.  Wheth- 
er memories  can  accumulate  in  experience  depends, 
evidently,  upon  whether  the  repetition  results  as  the 


124  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

first  instinctive  act  did.  It  is  found  that  this  is  some- 
times the  case  and  sometimes  not.  Certain  trains 
of  action  result  unfailingly  in  one  conclusion;  others 
may  or  may  not.  In  the  one  case,  the  action  is 
therefore  performed  unhesitatingly,  and  the  impulse 
comes  to  feel  pleasure  in  the  result  even  in  advance 
of  the  action;  in  the  other,  the  conflicting  memories 
bring  about  a  state  of  hesitation  in  action  and  of  dis- 
satisfaction in  feeling.  In  the  one  case  the  thought 
is  felt  as  certain,  in  the  other  as  doubtful;  in  both, 
however,  the  repetition  of  a  sensation  is  absolutely 
necessary.  If  sensations  were  never  repeated,  we 
might,  it  is  true,  have  memories  which  might  be 
called  up  by  the  impulses;  we  could,  however,  not 
apply  them  to  any  action,  nor  could  we  have  any 
expectation  of  events,  /.  e.,  any  understanding  of  the 
external  world.  Every  act  would  be  new  and  in- 
stinctive, and  could  have  no  relation  to  what  was 
remembered. 

Thought  thus  depends  upon  repetition  in  sensa- 
tion; certainty  upon  reliability  in  sensation.  The 
certainty  of  thoughts  is  called  knowledge  or  truth; 
its  essence  is  reliability  in  the  world  of  sensations; 
its  pleasure  is  in  its  partial  satisfaction  of  an  impulse 
in  advance  of  experience. 

Now,  as  impulses  are  partially  satisfied  by  thoughts, 
so  there  is  a  power  in  them  to  arrange  thoughts  in 
such  a  way  as  to  give  them  this  satisfaction.  This 
trait  (found  in  all  impulses)  may  be  called,  in  gen- 
eral, the  desire  for  certainty.  The  desire  for  cer- 
tainty (which  is  evidently  not  one  desire  but  a  gen- 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  125 

eral  trait  of  the  impulses)  works  to  pick  out  of  the 
complex  phenomena  of  existence  the  parts  that  are 
entirely  reliable. 

The  reliable  parts  of  a  phenomenon  are  found  to 
be  of  two  sorts:  Either  the  phenomenon  is  alone, 
in  which  case  the  reliable  elements  are  called  ele- 
ments of  existence;  or  the  phenomenon  is  in  relations 
to  other  phenomena,  in  which  case  we  have  qualities. 
Thus,  that  a  body  occupies  space  is  an  element  of  its 
existence;  this  same  fact,  however,  when  it  is  related 
to  other  bodies  (impenetrability)  becomes  a  quality. 

Now  the  word  cause  is  used  in  two  senses,  Either 
the  qualities  of  a  body  may  be  called  causes,  or  the 
word  may  be  used  as  referring  to  the  occasion  of  the 
coming  into  play  of  these  qualities  (/.  ^.,  historically), 
in  which  case  a  previous  situation  is  said  to  be  the 
cause  of  a  succeeding  one.  Kant  recognizes  only  the 
latter  use  of  the  word,  and  says  that  there  must  be 
a  change  and  a  succession  of  phenomena  in  order  that 
the  word  may  apply.  As  for  reliability,  that  does 
not  enter  his  discussion  at  all.  He  is  plainly  wrong. 
If  I  were  to  remove  my  hand  from  under  a  book,  and 
the  book  were  to  remain  in  the  air,  there  would  be 
no  succession  nor  change,  but  I  should  certainly  in- 
quire into  the  cause  of  the  phenomenon — because  it 
contradicted  my  idea  of  the  laws  of  nature,  i.e.,  the 
reliability  I  had  found  in  my  memories.  I  should 
say,  "What  qualities  in  the  book  or  in  the  surround- 
ings cause  it  to  hold  this  unheard-of  relation  to  other 
objects?"  Kant's  definition  leads  him  to  an  end- 
less chain  of  causes,  each  behind  the  other  in  time, 


126  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

but  there  is  no  such  endless  chain,  for  when  we  have 
reached  a  quality,  the  chain  ends.  If,  for  instance, 
I  find  a  stone  lying  on  the  ground,  my  inquiry  into 
causes  leads  me  to  the  quality  of  gravity  in  the  atoms. 
Gravity,  however,  has  no  cause,  but  existed  and  will 
exist  in  all  time;  or  if  it  is  composed  of  something 
simpler,  then  that  existed  in  all  time.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  ask  for  the  historical  cause  of  the  stone's 
lying  on  the  ground,  I  am  led  back,  it  is  true,  and 
must  reach  a  beginning  of  the  history  of  the  earth, 
which,  however,  must  be  explained  both  as  to  its 
beginning  and  as  to  every  step,  by  the  qualities  of  the 
atoms,  or  of  the  still  simpler  parts. 

The  study  of  causation,  then,  is  the  study  of  the 
qualities  of  the  elements — the  reliable  relations  of 
things.  The  study  of  the  history  of  the  world  is  then 
a  science  derived  from  it. 

The  regularity  of  the  external  world  is  possible 
only  through  its  stability.  Its  atoms  and  their  qual- 
ities are  the  same  from  moment  to  moment.  Our 
discovery  of  its  stability  is  due  to  the  fact  that  many 
of  its  atoms  are  alike.  If  each  atom  were  different 
from  every  other  one  (and  the  world  still  were  stable), 
the  regularity  would  exist,  but  would  probably  never 
be  discovered,  for  combinations  would  rarely  or  never 
recur;  and  without  the  repetition  of  sensations  and 
events,  there  could  be  no  thoughts  about  them. 

Repetitions,  thus,  are  a  necessity  for  thoughts  but 
are  not  a  necessity  of  the  external  world.  Hence 
we  may  very  well  say  that  we  cannot  conceive  of  a 
world  without  laws;  that  such  a  world  contradicts  the 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  127 

very  rules  of  thought  and  is  unthinkable:  but  that 
our  world  actually  obeys  laws  and  is  regular  in  its 
events,  cannot  be  known  in  advance,  nor  be  entirely 
certain  until  those  laws  are  all  actually  known. 

And  this  has  been  the  fact.  Men  have  not  believed 
in  the  lawfulness  of  nature.  Many  do  not  believe  in 
it  now.  "Science,"  they  say,  "can  never  explain  the 
most  important  facts  of  life — the  mind,  for  instance, 
obeys  no  laws  in  its  highest  workings."  Until  the 
regularity  is  discovered,  such  a  position  is  perfectly 
justified,  except  in  so  far  as  analogy  compels  us  to 
the  opposite  assumption.  What  we  can  understand 
must  be  reliable,  but  there  may  be  things  "beyond 
our  understanding."  Hence,  until  lately,  it  has  been 
perfectly  easy  to  believe  in  a  multiplication  of  loaves, 
or  a  changing  of  water  (HaO)  into  wine  (with  carbon 
and  other  atoms).  These  things  were  beyond  our 
understanding,  but  not  to  be  rejected  on  that  account. 
Of  course,  the  ordinary  facts  of  experience  were  ob- 
served to  be  regular  (and  the  strange  facts  were 
"miracles"),  but  the  necessity  of  regularity  was  not 
felt,  nor  is  there  any  such  necessity.  Regularity  is 
necessary  only  in  order  that  we  may  classify  and 
think  about  and  "understand." 

It  may  be  asked,  however,  how  it  is  that  the  ancient 
philosophers  came  upon  the  axiom  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  chance  (non  datur  casus}.  We  reply 
that  in  so  far  as  it  is  true,  it  was  a  lucky  hit;  that  they 
did  not  really  believe  it  in  our  sense  of  the  word  be- 
lief; that  it  was  evolved,  like  most  of  their  beliefs,  out 
of  the  pleasure  it  gave  them,  and  that  it  was  held,  like 


128  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

most  of  their  beliefs,  only  for  the  pleasure  it  gave. 
It  made  the  universe  thinkable;  as  for  the  actual  uni- 
verse, they  cared  not  at  all  that  it  seemed  to  contra- 
dict them  at  every  turn.  Kant's  philosopher  who 
said  that  the  weight  of  the  smoke  could  be  found  by 
subtracting  the  weight  of  the  ashes  from  the  weight 
of  the  wood,  is  an  illustration.  He  was,  luckily,  cor- 
rect (not  strictly,  but  at  least  in  a  general  way,  since 
weight  does  not  change),  but  it  is  noticeable  how,  for 
the  sake  of  his  theory  of  the  reliability  of  nature,  he 
went  flatly  against  the  phenomena.  His  theory  satis- 
fied him — the  remark  was  bright — he  asked  no  more. 
If  he  had  been  questioned  as  to  what  became  of  the 
candle  flame  when  it  was  blown  out,  he  would  have 
been  equally  fertile,  perhaps  (since  flame  was  believed 
to  be  a  substance),  and  equally  careless  of  his  phe- 
nomena. Such  cases  prove,  at  most,  only  that  men 
of  thought  noticed  or  felt  that  regularity  in  phenom- 
ena is  the  first  rule — the  essential  prerequisite — of 
understanding. 

We  have,  finally,  to  consider  the  origin  of  necessary 
truths,  such,  for  instance,  as  that  a  straight  line  is 
the  shortest  distance  between  two  points.  This  is, 
however,  easy,  and  has  been  done,  doubtless,  many 
times  before. 

Every  simple  thought  is  a  belief.  What  we  think 
first  is  a  belief,  and  seems  absolutely  necessary.  If 
we  are  to  be  in  doubt  there  must  be  some  other 
experience  (real  or  imagined)  to  balance,  at  least  in 
part,  the  first  one.  When  experience  gives  us  nothing 
out  of  whicl]  to  construct  an  opposing  thought,  a 


FIRST  TRUTHS— KANT  129 

belief  becomes  necessary.  The  three  dimensions  of 
space,  the  one  dimension  of  time — the  denial  of 
these  cannot  be  conceived,  because  we  have  no  data 
in  experience  out  of  which  to  form  a  conflicting  idea. 
Kant  notices  the  statement  that  "all  bodies  have 
weight"  as  true  and  yet  not  necessary;  it  is  not  neces- 
sary (though  universally  true,  so  far  as  we  know) 
because  we  can  easily  conceive  the  contrary.  That 
a  body  should  rise  instead  of  fall,  is  perfectly  easy 
to  imagine.  That  a  body  should  occupy  no  space  at 
all,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine,  though  we  can 
imagine  the  body  as  disappearing.  So  long  as  it 
exists  and  is  a  body,  it  must  occupy  space.1 

We  hold,  then,  to  the  essential  reliability  of  our 
impressions  from  external  objects.  The  manner  in 
which  this  is  brought  about  is  contained  in  our 
axiom  regarding  influence,  namely,  that  an  impulse 
regularly  has  the  power  to  make  definite  the  com- 
plementary impulse  in  a  suitable  other  mind.  Our 
impulses,  then  (being  always  complementary),  are  re- 
lated in  a  regular  way  to  the  external  world,  and, 
therefore,  are  reliable  guides  as  to  the  nature  of  ex- 
ternal bodies.  Our  so-called  sensations,  i.e.,  our 
pleasures  and  displeasures,  are  regularly  related  to 
our  impulses  (we  may  believe  so,  at  least),  and  there- 
fore give,  so  far  as  they  go,  a  true  idea  of  the  objects 
of  impulse,  i.e.,  they  correspond  somehow  to  the 
world  and  are  a  true  interpretation  of  it  in  some 
sense  or  other. 

1  It  may  be  suspected  that  the  axiom  that  bodies  must  occupy 
space  is  rather  a  definition  than  an  axiom. 


130  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

This  short  exposition  of  the  bearings  of  the  theory 
upon  the  beginnings  of  things  may  well  close  here. 
It  can  easily  be  elaborated  by  any  one  who  will  put 
time  upon  it.  Of  course,  there  is  no  claim  made  that 
our  theory  explains  everything.  It  does  not.  Its 
tendency  is,  however,  to  throw  the  seat  of  mystery 
back  upon  the  atom.  Behind  that,  no  theory  can 
go.  The  atom  is,  and  ever  was,  and  ever  will  be,  so 
far  as  we  know  at  present.  With  its  eternal  qualities 
known,  investigation  must  rest. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS 

WE  now  come  to  the  detailed  examination  of  the 
phenomena  of  the  mind  in  actual  conditions.  Our 
intention  is  to  show  that  these  are  all  either  simple  or 
complex  states  and  actions  of  the  Material,  Personal, 
and  Social  instincts.  We  will  consider  first  the  mind 
in  its  full  range,  i.e.,  so  as  to  include  all  possible 
minds.  The  discussion  of  the  differences  between 
individual  minds  will  be  taken  up  afterward  in  our 
concluding  chapter. 

To  begin  with,  it  may  be  well  to  reconsider  some 
of  our  more  general  positions. 

An  impulse  is  an  unconscious  desire,  i.  e.,  a  desire 
without  thought.  We  consider  all  desires  as  having 
existed  first  as  impulses;  or,  since  many  objects  of 
desire  are  the  object  of  more  than  one  impulse,  that 
the  elements  of  all  desires  existed  first  as  impulses. 
Impulses  are  a  release  of  force,  and  regularly  result  in 
action.  Such  action,  if  in  absence  of  thought,  is 
called  impulsive,  or  instinctive,  or  reflex.  We  shall 
consider  an  instinct  as  the  impulse  plus  the  suitable 
influence  and  action.  The  impulses,  according  to 


132  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

our  scheme,  must  explain  all  actions,  whether  of  body 
or  of  brain  (thought). 

Here  we  strike  upon  a  common  idea  to  the  con- 
trary. Many  persons  believe  that  instincts  are 
reasonable,  in  their  origin  at  least — that  they  are  un- 
conscious thoughts. 

Such  a  belief  often  rests  upon  an  ignorance  of  the 
actual  workings  of  the  instincts,  the  holders  of  it 
having  an  idea  that  the  acts  of  the  animals  are  ma- 
chine-like. The  bee,  for  instance,  is  conceived  as  a 
sort  of  machine,  turning  out  mathematically  perfect 
combs  according  to  the  most  economic  method,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  acquired  through  ages  of  reason- 
ableness antedating  its  present  instinctive  condition. 
So  much,  however,  at  least,  is  certain,  namely,  that 
the  bee  does  not  turn  out  any  such  combs.  A  bee's 
comb  is  not  made  according  to  a  fixed  model.  No 
two  combs  are  alike,  and  artificial  combs  would  be 
recognized  in  an  instant  from  the  very  fact  that  they 
were  regular.  There  is  probably,  in  a  word,  no  in- 
stinct among  animals  that  does  not  adapt  itself  to  its 
surroundings.  The  spider  builds  its  web,  the  bird  its 
nest,  and  the  beaver  its  dam,  with  a  large  power  of 
adaptation.  Theirs  are  not  the  acts  of  a  builder  fol- 
lowing an  architect's  plan,  but  rather  of  the  artist 
struggling  to  express  what  cannot  be  expressed — his 
own  nature  with  its  tastes  and  preferences. 

But  through  ages  of  repetition,  says  the  arguer,  the 
experiences  of  the  bee  have  become  impressed  upon 
its  nature.  We  reply  that  there  is  no  evidence  that 
ages  of  repetition  do  actually  impress  an  organism. 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS      133 

Dogs  have  been  coming  at  call  for  thousands  of 
years,  yet  every  dog  has  to  be  taught  to  come  at  call. 
And,  again,  many  instincts  are  modern  and  are  im- 
pressed without  any  ages.  The  swifts  of  America, 
for  instance,  built  in  trees  for  ages,  but  when  chim- 
neys were  built  they  immediately  and  unanimously 
left  the  trees  for  the  chimneys.  Their  instinct  has 
not  changed,  for  they  still  build  in  trees  where  no 
chimneys  are  available.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
barn  swallows,  and  of  the  chimney  swallows  of 
Europe.  Or  take  the  mosquito.  It  lived  in  America 
for  ages  upon  the  juices  of  plants — and  still  does. 
But  if  a  man  enter  its  domain  it  immediately  chooses 
human  blood  in  preference  to  plant  juices.  Or  take 
man.  What  previous  experience  made  him  take  to 
tobacco  or  whiskey  ?  The  savage  needs  no  ages  of 
experience  to  like  whiskey.  In  a  word,  an  instinct 
seems  to  be  a  taste  or  liking  which  recognizes  its 
object,  and  may  find  that  object  in  something  entirely 
new,  artificial,  and  strange. 

It  will  be  well  for  the  reader  to  recognize  also  that 
even  if  the  intellectual  theory  of  the  instincts  were 
admitted,  it  would  hardly  advance  the  case.  Sup- 
pose that  a  dog  meets  another  dog,  and  that  the 
recognition  comes  through  a  comparison  of  the  other 
dog  with  himself.  (We  will  suppose,  for  the  sake  of 
the  argument,  that  the  dogs  resemble  each  other, 
though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  recognition  takes  place 
equally  well  between  quite  different  breeds.)  After 
the  intellectual  recognition  of  likeness,  it  still  remains 
to  be  explained  why  a  dog  is  pleased  at  the  likeness; 


134  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

and  we  are  compelled  to  fall  back  on  a  native  taste 
in  the  dog.  Or,  if  a  dog  by  argument  could  discover 
that  the  other  dog  was  a  female  while  it  was  itself  a 
male,  it  would  still  be  necessary  to  suppose  a  native 
liking  of  males  for  females.  Or,  to  take  a  more  ab- 
stract case,  if  a  man  is  told  that  2  +  2  =  4,  and  accepts 
the  statement,  it  still  remains  to  be  explained  why  the 
man  prefers  that  statement  to  the  statement  that 
2+2  =  5.  If we  say  it  is  because  the  one  equation 
is  true,  we  may  still  ask  why  man  is  more  satisfied 
with  truth  than  with  untruth.  All  thought,  in  short, 
rests  upon  choice  and  interest;  and  these  must  finally 
rest  upon  the  native  desires  (impulses)  of  the  mind. 
The  reader  may  easily  satisfy  himself  of  this  by 
following  back  a  few  thoughts.  Many  preferences, 
of  course,  are  quite  direct.  The  liking  for  sugar, 
salt,  tobacco,  bright  colors,  etc.,  can  have  no  possi- 
ble intellectual  explanation.  We  like  them  because 
we  are  so  made. 

It  will  not  be  useless  for  the  reader  to  examine  also 
in  detail  what  is  ordinarily  called  purposeful  action 
or  thought.  The  purpose  of  an  act  or  thought  is  its 
conscious  cause.  It  will  be  found  in  every  case  that 
such  causes  soon  end,  if  carried  back,  in  a  cause  that 
is  quite  uncaused,  /'.  ^.,  they  end  in  the  nature  of  the 
mind.  We  can  give  a  cause  for  an  act,  and  perhaps 
a  further  cause  for  that,  but  the  ultimate  cause  is 
that  we  are  human.  The  cause  of  my  working  may 
be  that  I  need  money;  I  need  money  because  I  must 
have  food;  I  need  food  to  eat;  I  need  to  eat  to  live; 
I  need  to  live  because  I  want  to  live:  there  the  matter 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS     135 

ends.  All  "purposeful"  acts  and  thoughts  and  acts 
may  be  traced  similarly.  The  word  purpose  is  thus 
only  to  be  applied  to  reasoned  acts.  We  purpose  to 
satisfy  an  observed  impulse.  Thought  is  thus,  in 
essence,  only  the  handmaid  of  the  impulses  and  does 
not  exist  for  itself,  nor  has  it  any  significance  in 
itself.  Psychology  has  pretty  regularly  misconceived 
the  merely  economic  value  of  reason. 

Further  light  is  thrown  upon  the  nature  of  the  in- 
stincts in  the  cases  of  their  more  unusual  adaptability. 
In  some  cases  the  instincts  result  at  once  in  definite 
actions;  in  others,  however,  the  actions  must  be 
"learned,"  /.  e.,  the  animal  either  chooses  what  suits 
it  among  the  actions  of  other  animals,  or  else  accom- 
plished its  natural  actions  better  after  repetitions. 
Thus  certain  birds  (it  is  said)  will  never  sing  perfectly 
if  kept  in  close  captivity  and  out  of  hearing  of  others 
of  their  kind;  or  they  may  sing  imperfectly  at  first. 
Again,  most  animals  in  the  lack  of  the  natural 
objects  of  impulse  will  adopt  some  method  of  satis- 
faction that  is  certainly  less  suitable  to  them.  The 
swift,  for  instance,  built  in  trees  until  chimneys  were 
invented.  Birds  will  sometimes  imitate  the  songs  of 
other  species,  if  they  have  never  heard  their  own 
characteristic  song.  Tree-nesting  birds  will  build 
on  the  ground  or  on  a  fence  in  a  treeless  region. 
Butterflies,  birds,  and  the  mammalia,  will  mate  with 
strange  species,  in  default  of  members  of  their  own. 
Evidently  in  such  cases  the  impulse,  though  of  such  a 
nature  as  to  be  more  perfectly  satisfied,  makes  shift 
with  something  less  than  the  best  it  might  conceivably 


136  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

have.  Nevertheless,  it  is  not  to  be  thought  that  such 
animals  are  consciously  dissatisfied.  They  have  no 
thought  of  the  object  of  their  impulse.  These  are 
cases  of  deceived  or  mistaken  satisfaction,  as  we  shall 
call  them.  A  story  showing  this  clearly  is  given  by 
Mr.  Lloyd  Morgan.  A  young  hen  had  reared  a  brood 
of  ducks.  Her  maternal  instinct  had  satisfied  itself 
with  them,  in  default  of  better.  Her  next  brood  was 
of  chickens,  and  she  was  found  beside  the  pond  with 
them,  using  every  sort  of  persuasion  to  get  them  into 
the  water.  Her  maternal  instinct  evidently  had  con- 
tained no  thoughts  originally;  the  only  thoughts 
connected  with  it  were  those  given  her  by  her  ex- 
perience with  her  first  brood;  and  the  instinct,  in  the 
case  of  the  second  brood,  was  made  definite  through 
memory  of  her  experience  with  the  first. 

Undoubtedly  natural  selection  might  enter  as  a 
factor  to  decide  how  great  the  range  of  satisfaction 
for  any  impulse  may  be.  In  general,  however,  it 
may  be  said  that  only  the  more  complex  units  have  a 
wide  range  in  degrees  of  satisfaction.  The  simple 
organisms  and  the  dead  units  are  in  general  satisfied 
in  definite  ways  or  not  at  all;  the  higher  ones  may 
have  many  grades  of  satisfaction  and  adopt  a  lesser 
grade  when  the  higher  is,  for  some  reason,  impracti- 
cable. Man  is  a  striking  illustration  of  an  organism 
whose  satisfactions  are  often  deceived.  Moreover, 
animals  possessing  memory  are  the  more  apt  to  be 
led  astray,  since  the  memory  of  a  partial  satisfaction 
may  determine  action  contrary  to  an  opportunity  for 
a  fuller  one.  Hence  the  common  human  feeling 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS     137 

against  improvements  in  life  and  society.  Such  im- 
provements often  require  a  new  generation  for  their 
adoption — the  new  generation  ordinarily  choosing 
the  greater  satisfaction  without  hesitation  or  difficulty. 

We  hold,  then,  that  impulses  contain  no  thought. 
The  objects  of  their  desire  must  be  learned  through 
experience.  We  cannot  know  what  we  like  or  dislike, 
desire  or  have  a  repulsion  from,  except  as  the  object 
is  presented  to  us. 

Now,  consciousness  is  made  up  of  memories  of 
experiences.  Hence  the  impulses  do  not  even  enter 
consciousness  in  advance  of  experience.  They  must 
have  been  partially  satisfied  before  we  can  know  that 
we  have  them  at  all. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  impulses  exist  in 
advance  of  experience.  They  are  of  the  nature  of 
the  mind,  and  though  they  are  made  definite  by 
experience,  they  are  not  caused  by  it.  In  all  animal 
life  they  certainly  may  and  do  arise  to  strength  with- 
out any  external  stimulus  whatever,  or  any  internal 
stimulus  in  the  way  of  memory  or  thought.  The 
wants  of  the  organism  are  there. 

An  impulse,  according  to  our  axiom,  is  a  liberation 
of  force.  The  first  appearance  of  an  impulse  (before 
consciousness)  is  thus  an  action,  a  restless  and  aim- 
less movement  of  the  body,  accompanied,  as  the 
jrnrnilse  grows  stronger  and  its  satisfaction  less,  by  a 
feeling  of  displeasure.  Thus  the  hungry  infant  is 
restless  and  displeased,  though  it  may  have  no  possible 
thought  of  its  want,  or  even  that  it  has  a  want.  No 
doubt  the  pleasure  and  displeasure  of  the  impulses 


138  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

is  characteristic  in  each  case,  and,  after  experience, 
the  mind  may  identify,  in  a  general  way,  the  method 

of  search  for  its  satisfaction.     That,  however,  is  rare 

/ 

even  after  years  of  self-study.  The  importance  of 
the  recognition  of  this  state  of  things  in  the  field 
of  human  conduct  and  self-understanding,  cannot  be 
over-estimated. 

One  of  the  most  noticeable  characteristics  of  youth 
and  early  manhood,  for  instance,  is  the  large  number 
of  their  unidentified  and  misunderstood  yearnings. 
New  impulses  have  come  with  adolescence,  and  the 
youth  has  no  idea  of  what  he  wants.  His  restless- 
ness, rashness,  vagaries,  ideals,  poetry,  and  wild 
oats,  are  largely  the  natural  attempts  to  satisfy  what 
he  does  not  understand  in  himself.  Restlessness 
and  discontent  lead  him,  and  he  finds  a  fresh  eager 
joy  in  his  new  discoveries — which  seem  to  him  the 
greatest  things  in  the  world. 

Children,  with  their  constant  activity,  freakish- 
ness,  and  insatiable  curiosity,  are  another  illustration 
of  the  same  state  of  mind. 

The  unconsciousness  of  the  impulses  is  no  less 
evident  in  more  mature  life.  Every  man  is  at  times 
ashamed  or  pleased  at  his  own  acts.  Almost  every 
one  has  been  in  love,  or  angry,  or  treacherous,  or 
philanthropic,  without  knowing  it.  The  discovery 
that  the  heart  is  deceitful  above  all  things  and 
desperately  wicked,  has  been  made  by  many  besides 
Jeremiah.  We  approve  the  good  until  the  evil  comes 
with  the  rousing  power  of  actual  sensation;  then 
who  can  be  sure  of  himself  ?  "Opportunity"  says 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS     139 

Franklin,  "is  the  worst  pander."  "Who  can  under- 
stand his  errors,"  sings  David,  "cleanse  thou  me 
from  secret  faults."  Even  elaborate  actions  are  often 
performed  without  conscious  purpose.  So  the  lover 
may  find  himself  at  the  home  of  his  beloved;  the 
drunkard  at  the  bar  of  the  saloon;  the  murderer  over 
the  body  of  his  sought-out  victim. 

Often  self-discovery  is  a  matter  of  mere  chance. 
Witness  the  many  able  men  who  discovered  their 
distinct  callings  in  life  by  some  accident  or  other. 

Such  matters  are  common  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence, but  cannot  be  made  too  clear.     The  truth  is    C 
that  man  learns  to  know  himself,  if  he  ever  does,  not  Jj//> 

^ .         |  /-I  u .      ''     "'         .JU"* "       ~  ~*^ 

intuitively,  but  "by  careful  self-observation;  and  this 
self-knowledge  requires  time  and  determination — and 
even  so,  is  never  perfect. 

Deceptions  in  the  satisfaction  of  the  impulses  are 
of  two  general  sorts : 

i.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  important  desires 
are  often  satisfied  ignobly.  Men  find  that  they  can 
be  quieted,  at  least  in  part,  by  drinking,  smoking, 
hard  labor,  or  lust.  Thus  the  higher  impulses  may 
be  dulled  or  tired  by  undermining  the  power  of  the 
body^  Sometimes,  as  among  some  of  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  the  rich,  this  method  of  procedure  may 
be  sheer  ignorance  or  inexperience.  Sometimes  the 
impossibility  of  a  proper  satisfaction  is  also  a  factor. 
Disappointment,  riches,  or  poverty,  may  prove  such 
bars. 

A  variety  of  this  sort  of  mistake  is  when  finer 
natures  pitch  their  lives  upon  the  merely  practical 


140  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

plain.  Food  and  drink,  good  fellowship,  a  little 
lust,  and  a  decent  obedience  to  the  simpler  rights  of 
society — these  fill  their  lives.  Certainly  these  may 
be  enough  for  simpler  natures,  but  when  fine  ones 
live  so,  it  is  a  blunder.  Men  should  follow  their 
partial  dissatisfactions. 

2.  The  other  sort  of  deception  occurs  when  im- 
pulses are  quite  wrongly  interpreted — one  being 
taken  for  another.  Lust  among  the  poor  is  doubtless 
often  an  attempt  to  satisfy  the  craving  of  an  empty 
or  ill-fed  stomach,  or  to  satisfy  the  longings  felt  in 
a  wearisome  attempt  against  dwarfing  conditions. 
Men  write  sad  poetry  or  bitter  philosophy  who  need 
physic  for  liver  complaint,  or  glasses  for  their  eyes. 
That  these  things  occur  honestly  but  mistakenly  is 
evident  to  all  observers.  So,  again,  many  women  and 
some  men  take  religion  to  satisfy  sex;  some  take  it  to 
satisfy  hunger.  Or,  again,  men  mistake  their  callings 
in  life,  and  spend  their  years  trying  to  satisfy  one 
instinct  with  the  food  of  another.  Or,  as  is  perhaps 
most  common,  they  may  not  discern  which  instinct 
should  be  used  in  one  case  and  which  in  another, 
so  that  we  find  the  scholar's  work  colored  and  dis- 
torted by  theology  or  by  the  love  of  glory,  or  by 
hostility;  the  divine's  by  pride  and  selfishness;  the 
great  soldier's  by  the  love  of  popularity;  etc. — and 
all  this  quite  unconsciously. 

The  misfortune  in  this  blundering  assortment  of 
impulses  with  objects  is  that  when  the  memory  has 
once  arranged  and  associated  them  wrongly,  it  is 
extremely  difficult  to  separate  and  correct  them. 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS     141 

The  objects  give  pleasure,  certainly,  and  satisfy  an 
impulse;  and  it  is  hardly  or  not  at  all  noted  that 
the  chief  impulse  remains  quite  unsatisfied.  A  very 
careful  self-study  is  the  only  cure.  The  man  or 
woman  must  notice  whether,  after  all,  contentment 
is  the  result. 

An  important  corollary  to  the  unconsciousness  of 
the  desires  is  the  fact  that,  containing  no  thought, 
they  have  no  consciousness,  in  advance,  of  their 
economic  purpose  or  result. 

We  do  not  eat  in  order  to  nourish  the  body.  Sex 
has  in  it  no  thought  of  reproduction.  The  social 
state  is  not  a  social  contract,  nor  is  it  invented  for 
mutual  protection,  but  is  an  unforeseen  result  of 
man's  liking  for  man.  The  practical  results  of  man's 
impulses  are  not  contained  in  the  impulses,  and  can 
be  known  only  after  experience  has  revealed  them. 

Much  theorizing  is  wasted  because  of  the  opposite 
assumption.  Thus,  theories  of  the  origin  of  the 
family  and  of  the  state  often  go  wide.  It  is,  for 
instance,  not  sufficiently  considered  that  in  the 
earliest  stages  of  civilization  and  of  the  family,  man 
had  not  noticed  that  children  were  the  offspring  of 
two  individuals.  A  tribe  in  this  condition  has 
actually  been  found  in  Australia.  Or,  again,  some 
philosophers  have  wished  to  reduce  the  sources  of 
all  actions  to  pleasure  or  calculating  selfishness. 
Satisfied  impulses  result  in  pleasure,  but  there  is 
no  purpose  of  pleasure  in  them.  They  act  whether 
pleasure  or  pain  be  the  result — at  any  rate,  until  ex- 
perience and  memory  come  into  control.  Similarly, 


142  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

selfishness  requires  experience,  and  cannot  be  found 
in  the  native  impulse. 

Biology,  again,  speaks  of  the  instincts  of  self- 
preservation,  and  of  the  preservation  of  the  species. 
Doubtless  the  instincts  have  these  economic  values, 
and  may  well  be  considered  from  these  points  of  view; 
psychologically,  however,  it  is  important  to  note  that 
there  is  no  such  mental  content.  The  animal  that 
eats  or  flees  from  danger  is  not  consciously  preserving 
itself;  it  is  hungry  or  afraid.  In  this  treatise  we 
have  accordingly  named  the  instincts  not  from  their 
economic  values,  but,  as  simply  as  possible,  with 
adjectives  drawn  from  the  general  nature  of  their 
objects.  Even  that  is  in  so  far  false,  that  the  im- 
pulses contain  absolutely  no  thought,  whether  of 
object  or  of  purpose. 

Indeed,  it  is  important  to  notice  that,  as  the  im- 
pulses contain  no  thought,  and  as  they  are  not  the 
product  of  environment,  so  we  can  have  no  exact  idea 
of  what  they  are  or  of  what  (if  anything)  would 
entirely  satisfy  them.  We  know  them,  for  the  most 
part,  only  in  their  relations  to  the  actualities  of  the 
world.  How  they  would  act,  were  these  actualities 
different,  we  can  know  only  by  experiment,  and  such 
experiments,  even,  can  only  reveal  their  nature  more 
nearly,  never  entirely.  It  might  have  been  supposed 
that  the  barn  swallow's  building  impulse  was  quite 
satisfied  with  the  cliffs  as  a  breeding-place,  but  with 
the  advent  of  barns,  the  bird  infallibly  chose  the  new 
sites,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say  whether  something 
may  not  turn  up  that  will  suit  it  better.  So  of  the 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS      143 

mosquito.  No  one  could  have  guessed  that  it  would 
prefer  human  blood  to  vegetable  juices,  yet  such 
turned  out  to  be  the  case,  and  there  may  be  some 
food  that  it  would  prefer  to  either.  It  is  noticeable 
that  when  an  animal  is  put  into  quite  a  new  en- 
vironment— for  instance,  when  it  is  introduced  into  a 
new  country — it  very  frequently  adopts  new  habits 
of  life,  sometimes,  it  is  said,  with  physical  changes 
adapted  to  the  new  habits.  Darwin  was  of  the 
opinion  that  the  striking  variability  of  our  domestic 
animals  was  due  to  the  change  in  environment. 
The  domestic  environment,  perhaps,  brought  out  new 
ways  of  using  and  satisfying  the  impulses,  with 
consequent  developments  (variations)  in  the  physical 
forms  of  the  animals. 

The  case  of  the  human  impulses  is  particularly 
striking.  Man  has  developed  an  extremely  intricate 
environment,  quite  different  from  anything  found  in 
nature,  to  satisfy  his  impulses.  If  the  other  animals 
had  his  memory  and  elasticity  of  mind,  who  can 
possibly  say  what  they  would  invent  to  satisfy  theirs  ? 
As  it  is,  they  must  use  what  is  at  hand.  The  bird 
may  build  on  the  ground  if  it  must,  in  a  tree  if  it 
can,  and  in  a  human  artificial  structure  if  fortune 
is  favorable.  Man,  with  his  inventive  brain,  passes  ( 
from  the  tree  or  cave  to  the  hut;  from  the  hut  to 
the  house;  from  the  house  to  the  palace  with  glass 
windows,  electric  lights,  telephones,  sewer  systems, 
steam  heaters,  ventilators,  etc.,  etc. — discovering  f 
and  supplying  new  wants  every  day.  Or,  to  make 
another  comparison:  the  animal  uses  foods,  mates, 


144  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

and  companions,  to  make  definite  its  impulses; 
man,  following  in  thought  the  lines  of  his  dissatisfac- 
tions, arrives  at  supersensual  desires  for  knowledge, 
beauty,  and  God.  We  are  not  to  be  sure  that  the 
great  gap  between  the  animals  and  man  is  caused 
by  a  great  difference  in  the  impulses.  It  is  rather  to 
be  assumed  that  the  difference  is  in  memory  and 
flexibility  (invention)  which  has  enabled  man  in  the 
course  of  ages  to  discover  and  invent  truer  objects 
of  interest  and  desire,  both  in  nature  and  in  thought. 
Impulses,  whether  of  animals  or  of  man,  are  never 
entirely  satisfied,  but  that  man  by  his  inventions  has 
come  much  nearer  satisfaction  and  has  revealed  the 
essential  nature  of  the  impulses,  at  least  to  some 
degree,  by  insisting  upon  their  more  perfect  satisfac- 
tions, is  quite  clear. 

To  sum  up:  the  impulses  exist  in  advance  of 
experience;  are  not  caused  by  the  environment; 
cannot  be  entirely  satisfied  (at  least  in  the  animals 
and  plants);  contain  no  thought  of  their  object, 
their  purpose,  or  their  result. 

Since,  then,  the  impulses  are  to  be  known  only 
through  experience,  it  appears  that  any  theory  of 
conduct  must  be  built  upon  the  study  of  experience, 
which  study  must  consist  of  three  parts:  First,  the 
study  of  the  objects  of  desire;  second,  the  discovery 
or  invention  of  the  means  of  attaining  those  objects, 
so  far  as  that  may  be  possible;  third,  the  study  of  the 
economic  results  and  relations  of  the  satisfactions  of 
the  desires. 

It  has  often  been  supposed  that  some  one  theory  of 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS     145 

conduct  and  life  could  be  invented  that  would  suit 
all  men.  When,  however,  we  consider  the  differences 
between  individual  minds,  in  delicacy,  intellect,  and 
the  proportion  of  the  impulses,  it  appears  highly 
improbable  that  any  such  consummation  is  to  be 
hoped,  however  devoutly  it  may  be  wished.  Up  to 
the  present  time,  at  least,  men  of  strong  and  sincere 
minds  have  disagreed  much  in  their  solutions,  and, 
as  all  such  solutions  are  the  fruit  of  the  study  of  the 
world  as  related  to  the  impulses,  and  so  (since  the 
world  is  a  constant  factor)  may  be  said  to  be  the 
fruit  of  the  impulses,  i.e.,  of  the  character,  it  is 
hardly  to  be  expected  that  the  solutions  can  ever  be 
less  in  number  than  the  number,  at  least,  of  the  great 
types  of  human  minds.  It  is  evident,  however,  that 
a  careful  and  systematic  study  of  the  impulses  and 
their  relations,  can  hardly  fail  to  be  of  great  impor- 
tance in  determining  and  assisting  these  solutions. 

We  now  turn  to  the  more  detailed  consideration 
of  our  special  subject,  namely,  the  similarity  of  the 
instincts. 

In  the  formal  consideration  of  the  instincts  it  will 
be  necessary  to  divide  them  into  spheres  of  action,  or 
grades.  The  chief  of  these  are  the  cell,  the  body,  the 
body  and  the  external  world,  and  the  grade  of 
thought.  The  last  of  these  arises  from  considering 
the  mind  in  memory  as  of  a  comparatively  independ- 
ent grade  in  its  activity. 

Hence  we  have  a  Cell-Material  instinct  and  a  Cell- 
Personal  instinct.  The  Social  instinct  begins  with 
the  body. 


146  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Next,  the  Body-Material,  Body-Personal,  and 
Body-Social  instincts. 

The  third  we  shall  call  the  Practical-Material, 
Practical-Personal,  and  Practical-Social  instincts. 

The  fourth,  the  Thought-Material,  Thought- 
Personal,  and  Thought-Social  instincts. 

As  a  subhead  of  the  Body  instincts  we  shall  have 
to  consider  that  the  body  often  includes  more  than 
the  living  cells  of  the  organism  and  that  these  ap- 
pendages also  come  within  the  sphere  of  the  mind's 
impulses  and  actions.  Hence  the  Extra-Material, 
Extra-Personal,  and  Extra-Social  instincts. 

Between  the  Practical  and  Thought  instincts  we 
shall  make  a  subdivision  including  those  impulses 
and  acts  that  are  accompanied  and  made  possible 
by  memory  without  a  real  power  of  thought.  These 
we  shall  call  the  Recognition-Material,  Recognition- 
Personal,  and  Recognition-Social  instincts. 

Under  the  Thought  instincts  also  there  will 
come  a  subdivision,  which  we  shall  call  the  Ideal, 
namely,  the  Ideal-Material,  Ideal-Personal,  and 
Ideal-Social  instincts. 

The  Social  instinct  extends  into  grades  beyond  the 
other  instincts  and  demands  special  subdivisions 
and  special  treatment  in  general.  These,  however, 
are  analogous  to  those  already  mentioned,  and,  as 
they  apply  only  to  the  Social,  need  not  be  mentioned 
in  detail  here. 

In  order  to  make  this  summary  clear,  it  may  be 
well  to  go  over  our  scheme  somewhat  in  detail,  grade 
by  grade. 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS      147 
THE    CELL    INSTINCTS 

The  Cell  impulses  are  made  definite  by  external 
influences — light,  heat,  sound,  pressure,  and  the 
chemical  forces.  There  are  corresponding  cell  activ- 
ities. The  pleasures  and  pains  are  those  of  sensation. 

THE    BODY   INSTINCTS 

The  Body  impulses  are  under  the  sympathetic 
unity  of  the  cells  of  the  body.  They  are  made 
definite  by  the  condition  of  the  cells.  The  activities 
are  the  growth  of  the  body  and  the  arrangement  of 
the  cells  in  it.  The  pleasures  and  pains  are  those 
of  the  body  tones. 

THE    EXTRA   INSTINCTS 

These  are  Body  impulses  when  something  beyond 
the  living  cells  forms  part  of  the  body.  The  activities 
are  the  growth  and  arrangement  of  the  Extra  parts. 
The  pleasures  and  pains  are  those  of  the  body  tones. 

THE  PRACTICAL  INSTINCTS 

The  Practical  instincts  have  to  do  with  the  body  in 
its  relations  to  the  external  world.  The  nervous 
system  here  becomes  important,  if  present.  The 
impulses  show  themselves  plainly  in  advance  of 
experience,  in  the  form  of  a  partial  displeasure  ac- 
companied by  aimless  actions.  This  state  is  called 
craving,  longing,  yearning,  and  the  like.  The  actions 
are  restlessness. 

If,  now,  the  organism    receive  a  sensation    from 


148  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

without,  one  or  more  of  the  instincts  may  be  made 
partially  definite.  The  result  is  attention.  It  is 
accompanied  by  beginnings  of  movements  toward 
the  object  of  sensation.  Attention,  thus,  may  be  a 
condition  of  any  one  of  the  impulses,  or  it  may  be  of 
any  two  or  of  all  at  once.  Language,  however,  has 
but  one  word  for  the  condition,  whether  it  be  an 
apple  or  a  beggar  that  aroused  it. 

It  should  be  noted  that  attention  presupposes  the 
impulse.  The  hungry  man  notices  food;  the  char- 
itable man,  the  beggar;  and  so  on.  Much  of  the 
blindness  of  men  is  to  be  explained  in  this  way. 

Stronger  forms  of  attention  may  be  alertness,  in- 
tentness,  or  interest.  The  lack  of  attention  is  in- 
difference. 

If  attention  or  interest  continues,  the  impulse  is 
often  made  definite  enough  to  cause  a  positive 
movement  toward  its  object.  This  state,  in  which 
the  impulse  is  not  entirely  definite,  is  called  curiosity, 
inquisitiveness,  prying,  and  the  like.  It  is  found  in 
all  the  instincts  and  is  of  immense  economic  im- 
portance. It  is  one  of  the  strongest  traits  man  has, 
and  has  been  a  large  factor  in  his  advance. 

Many  sensations  make  certain  impulses  quite 
definite.  If  the  definite  impulse  is  affirmative  it  may 
be  called  appetite,  desire,  inclination,  liking,  love, 
or  passion.  If  negative,  dislike,  or  repulsion.  The 
precision  and  delicacy  of  such  intuitions  is  one  of  the 
wonders  of  life. 

As  each  impulse  is  roused  by  special  sensations,  and 
as  the  sensations  may  be  complex  or  received  through 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS      149 

several  senses  at  once,  these  various  sensations,  being 
held  together  and  fused  by  the  impulse,  would  result 
in  special  perceptions  for  each  of  the  impulses. 

Sometimes  the  influence  is  too  strong  or  too  sudden 
for  the  mind  to  adapt  itself  immediately  (or  at  all)  to 
its  situation.  In  that  case  perception  fails  to  take 
place,  and  confusion  results.  This  is  a  breaking 
down  of  the  strength  and  unity  of  the  mind,  i.e.,  of 
the  Material  impulse,  and  is  thus  disagreeable,  I.e., 
results  in  a  negative  impulse.  In  its  stronger  forms 
it  is  apprehension,  fright,  fear,  dread,  terror,  panic, 
or  even  agony.  This  occurs  in  all  the  instincts,  and 
in  all  grades  from  the  Practical  up.  No  doubt  it 
occurs  also  in  the  lower  grades,  but  it  is  not  plain  in 
them.  Perhaps  certain  reflex  and  local  actions  of 
withdrawal  or  self-defence  are  to  be  attributed  to  it. 

Definite  impulses  result  in  definite  movements. 
If  the  impulse  is  positive  the  movement  is,  in  general, 
an  approach.  If  there  is  an  obstacle  the  result  may 
be  called  striving  or  attempting.  As  qualities  of  the 
impulse  or  the  action  we  may  use  such  words  as 
eagerness,  spiritedness,  ardor,  and  haste;  or  laziness 
and  slackness;  or,  with  obstacles,  courage,  boldness, 
assurance,  industry,  or  tenacity.  These  words,  of 
course,  may  be  used  of  all  the  instincts  and  so  have 
each  at  least  three  different  senses. 

If  the  impulse  is  negative,  the  movement  is,  in 
general,  a  retreat.  It  may  take  the  forms  of  shrink- 
ing, quailing,  flinching,  trembling,  flight,  and  the 
like.  (It  has  been  noted  that  such  actions  are  with- 
out conscious  economic  purpose.  The  animal  re- 


150  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

treats  not  to  save  its  life,  but  because  of  dislike  or 
fear.) 

Of  the  movements  resulting  from  impulse  we 
repeat  what  we  have  said  before,  namely,  that  a 
steady  impulse  with  its  steady  release  of  force  may 
result  in  a  complex  and  rhythmic  motion.  As  we 
have  seen,  unicellular  plants  and  animals  may  move 
their  swimmerets  rhythmically  and  advance  through 
the  water  as  the  result  of  a  simple  stimulus  (influence) 
and,  apparently,  a  simple  impulse.  The  more 
complex  movements  of  the  higher  animals  we  would 
explain  by  the  same  principle.  The  swimming 
movements  of  fish;  the  flying  of  birds;  the  walking 
or  running  of  land  animals — all  these  are  probably 
simple  results  of  simple  and  steady  impulses.  The 
animals  move  so,  not  because  they  have  learned,  but 
because  they  are  so  formed  that  (at  maturity,  at 
least)  the  simple  steady  impulse  causes  these  more  or 
less  complex  movements.  It  is  the  inhibition  of  the 
acts  that  is  learned  and  is  the  result  of  a  more  complex 
state  of  mind,  namely,  one  with  memory,  or  with 
several  influences  at  once. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  of  all  acts,  that  an  extreme 
of  an  impulse  may  result  in  the  opposite  sort  of  move- 
ment. The  frightened  animal  may  rush  toward  the 
cause  of  its  fear;  the  affectionate  may  move  away. 
A  frightened  man  or  woman  is  notoriously  danger- 
ous; and  among  the  animals  it  is  common  to  find 
individuals  rushing  into  peril  and  death.  The  moth 
and  the  flame  is  often  mentioned.  This  effect  of 
extreme  fear  is  commonly  spoken  of  as  a  fascination 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE   INSTINCTS      151 

in  the  object  of  fear.  Of  the  opposite  manner  of 
action,  namely,  an  affirmative  impulse  leading  to  a 
negative  manner  of  action,  bashfulness  is  perhaps 
the  most  common  example.  This  state  of  things  is 
found  also  in  the  cells  and  the  lower  units.  We 
think  of  it  as  underlying  the  vision  of  complementary 
colors  when  the  eye  is  "wearied"  with  looking  at  one 
set;  the  experience  of  pain  in  continued  tickling;  etc. 

The  pleasures  and  pains  of  the  Practical  instincts 
are  those  commonly  called  physical.  Some  of  these, 
if  affirmative,  may  be  called  satisfaction,  happiness, 
relief,  or  relish.  If  there  is  a  diminution  in  the  satis- 
faction of  an  impulse,  it  may  take  the  forms  of  dis- 
pleasure, annoyance,  distress,  pain,  hurt,  suffering, 
woe,  torment,  torture,  and  the  like.  Satiety  is  satis- 
faction so  overdone  as  to  result  in  displeasure. 

The  overflow  actions,  i.e.,  actions  after  or  accom- 
panying pleasure  or  displeasure,  are  regularly  present. 
Those  associated  with  pleasure  may  take  the  forms 
of  dancing,  bounding,  shouting,  laughing,  and 
various  facial  expressions,  such  as  smiling,  flashing  of 
the  eyes,  etc.  Those  with  displeasure  may  be  weep- 
ing, moaning,  with  various  facial  expressions,  such  as 
glumness,  dulness  of  the  eyes,  etc.  Here,  again, 
strong  impulses  may  work  to  opposite  results  in  action, 
and  men  may  weep  for  joy  and  laugh  from  pain. 

THE    RECOGNITION    INSTINCTS 

We  shall  call  Recognition  instincts  those  forms  in 
which  memory  (but  not  recollection)  is  involved. 
Such  cases  would  involve  recognition  and  some  im- 


152  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

provement  through  practice.  They  would  in  general 
be  the  same  as  the  Practical  ones,  with  the  addition 
of  such  states  of  the  impulses  as  are  brought  about 
through  the  recognition  of  repeated  former  situations 
—hence  some  degree  of  confidence,  assurance,  de- 
termination, insistence,  hesitation,  doubt,  uneasiness, 
wavering,  apprehension,  surprise,  and  bewilderment; 
and  such  acts  as  seeking,  returning,  and  the  like. 
Few  of  the  lower  animals  show  signs  of  rising  above 
the  Recognition  instincts. 

THE   THOUGHT    INSTINCTS 

The  essential  fact  upon  which  the  Thought  in- 
stincts depend  is  that  an  instinct  may  be  more  or 
less  satisfied  by  the  mere  thought  of  its  satisfaction 
or  dissatisfaction.  In  the  simplest  cases  such  thoughts 
will  evidently  be  mere  memories  of  cases  of  actual 
satisfactions,  with  their  interesting  historic  details. 
Such  mental  pleasures  can  take  place  only  as  the 
mind  possesses  the  power  of  recollection.  It  must 
be  able  to  call  up  the  former  experiences — i.e.,  not 
merely  to  recognize  recurrences,  but  actually  to  re- 
enact  in  memory  what  has  happened,  and  this,  in  the 
more  elaborate  cases,  even  though  such  happenings 
are  only  distantly,  if  at  all,  connected  with  present 
sensations.  In  a  word,  such  a  mind  must  be  able 
to  live  and  act  in  memories,  and,  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent,  to  recombine  them  as  it  would  recombine, 
or  experiment  with,  actualities.  This  one  grade  of 
the  instincts  thus  covers  a  considerable  grade  of 
actions  within  itself,  since  it  must  extend  from  the 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE   INSTINCTS     153 

cases  in  which  the  thoughts  are  closely  related  to 
present  happenings,  to  those  in  which  the  mind 
works  almost  entirely  in  abstractions. 

If  the  mind  have  in  memory  the  object  of  an  im- 
pulse, the  impulse  plus  the  memory  is  called  a  de- 
sire, want,  wish,  taste,  leaning,  inclination,  appetite, 
liking,  love,  etc.;  or,  if  negative,  a  dislike,  hate,  or 
repulsion;  or,  with  an  inability  to  meet  the  thought, 
it  may  be  hate,  dread,  fear,  and  the  like. 

The  result  of  recollections,  making  the  impulses 
definite  in  advance  of  action,  and  so  leading  to  special 
action,  may  be  a  state  of  mind  with  purposes,  inten- 
tions, resolutions,  expectations,  and  the  like.  The 
thought  itself  may  be  called  a  plan.  (These  words, 
like  most  of  the  others  we  shall  mention,  may  be 
used  also  of  purely  mental  states.) 

This  power  of  the  mind  is  of  the  greatest  impor- 
tance, in  that  it  may  result  in  a  suiting  of  actions  to 
the  previous  thought.  Such  actions  are,  in  general, 
called  reasonable.  There  is  no  necessity,  however, 
in  the  sequence  of  reasonable  acts  upon  reasonable 
thoughts  and  purposes:  for  in  thought  all  the  im- 
pulses are  or  may  be  awakened  in  their  normal  pro- 
portions; while  in  the  actual  experience  afterward, 
some  one  impulse  may  be  made  definite  enough 
(through  the  sensation  of  the  moment)  to  overthrow 
the  whole  purposed  act,  bring  the  character  quite 
out  of  its  normal  balance,  and  result  in  a  purely  im- 
pulsive act.  This  is  indeed  common  experience,  and 
men  of  the  most  delicate  balance  of  mind  when  alone, 
may  act  like  fools  in  actual  life.  Witness  such  men 


154  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

of  genius  as  Goldsmith,  Corneille,  La  Fontaine,  and 
Andersen.  Nevertheless,  the  Thought  impulses  give 
man  the  possibility  of  a  freedom  such  as  no  lower 
animals  possess  to  more  than  a  slight  degree,  and  it 
is  regularly  used. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  man's 
freedom  through  this  power  can  go  no  further  than 
to  make  him  act  according  to  his  nature.  If  in  his 
lonely  hour  he  prefers  the  foolish  or  evil,  nothing 
further  can  be  done.  Moreover,  a  man's  impulses 
are  not  conscious  even  in  thought,  and  a  man  may 
profess  all  the  virtues  and  yet  plan  atrocious  acts, 
or  may  do  them  without  consciously  planning  more 
than  the  going  into  the  temptation.  Such  behavior 
may  fairly  be  called  self-deception,  and  it  may  be 
presumed  that  the  act  is  not  an  unbalanced  one,  but 
is  according  to  the  man's  real  nature.  /The  man  who 
deliberately  goes  into  known  temptation  may  fairly 
be  supposed  to  prefer  the  crime,  though  he  may  be 
quite  unconscious  of  his  preference.  (Of  course, 
this  does  not  apply  absolutely  to  cases  where  the 
entrance  into  known  temptation  has  quite  a  different 
origin — as,  for  instance,  when  a  man's  business  or 
social  duties  lead  him  in.  Nevertheless,  even  in  such 
cases  there  is  a  measure  of  probable  responsibility.) 

In  applying  reasonable  purposes  to  actual  condi- 
tions there  may  arise  certain  conditions  unforeseen, 
or  not  to  be  foreseen  by  the  mind.  Hence  the  mind 
may  be  brought  suddenly  into  a  state  of  inability  to 
meet  the  situation,  perhaps  even  because  of  the 
strength  of  its  memories.  This  (ordinarily  dis- 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS     155 

agreeable)  condition  may  be  called  disappointment, 
amazement,  astonishment,  bewilderment,  marvelling, 
surprise,  wonder,  stupefaction,  consternation,  dis- 
may, and,  finally,  fear,  uneasiness,  anxiety,  misgiving, 
and  the  like. 

With  increasing  experience  and  memory  we  reach 
finally  such  states  of  mind  as  anticipation,  fore- 
thought, and  foreknowledge;  with  such  traits  as 
caution,  prudence,  providence,  circumspection,  vigi- 
lance, watchfulness,  precaution,  and  the  like;  and 
such  general  traits  of  character  as  reserve,  guarded- 
ness,  and  the  various  forms  of  self-government,  such 
as  self-restraint,  self-control,  and  self-possession. 

Meanwhile,  the  power  of  actual  thought,  /.  ^.,  that 
exercised  nearly  or  quite  apart  from  the  present  and 
influential  phenomena,  has  come  into  play.  Here 
it  is  plain  that  what  was  said  of  the  Practical  instincts 
applies,  except  that  the  sphere  of  operations  must  be 
chiefly  that  of  memories,  instead  of  being  merely  that 
of  sensations. 

Thus  an  impulse  that  was  indefinite  would  result 
in  a  state  of  restlessness  and  undirected  action,  not 
merely  externally,  but  also  in  the  memories.  The 
mind  might  wander  about  through  memories  seeking 
its  satisfaction. 

Any  memory,  or  thought,  may  make  an  impulse 
partly  definite,  with  a  resulting  state  of  mental  atten- 
tion, interest,  or  intentness;  the  opposite  state,  again, 
being  indifference. 

If  interest  continues,  the  impulse  may  become  so 
far  definite  as  to  result  in  actions — hence  mental,  as 


156  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

well  as  physical,  curiosity,  experimenting,  and  the 
like;  rising  to  mental  and  practical  investigation 
and  research. 

The  results  of  this  condition  of  mind,  with  its 
interplay  of  thought  and  external  action,  have  been 
numerous.  The  simplest  are  the  classifications  and 
concepts  which  grow  up  under  each  instinct,  being 
held  together  each  by  some  impulse  or  group  of 
impulses  to  which  they  are  related  in  some  common 
way. 

Besides,  each  instinct  gradually  sifts  out  of  its 
memories  what  is  reliable;  each  has  its  own  sort 
of  reasoning,  both  analytic  and  synthetic.  Some 
of  such  acts  are  analysis,  synthesis,  induction,  de- 
duction, comparison,  and  criticism.  The  result 
of  such  mental  acts  will  in  the  end  be  truth  or 
knowledge;  and,  if  possible,  the  more  abstract 
truths  called  axioms,  principles,  methods,  and  sys- 
tems. In  short,  each  instinct  has  its  own  sort  of 
imagination,  thoughtfulness,  orderliness,  and  love  of 
truth.  In  practical  matters  a  man  may  be,  in  each 
of  them,  discreet  and  shrewd,  and  may  show  calcula- 
tion and  care. 

It  should  be  noted,  also,  that  language,  with  its 
associations  in  memory,  is  largely  used  in  this  grade 
of  each  instinct.  This  circumstance  is  especially 
important  in  the  Personal  and  Social  fields,  since 
these  have  to  do  with  the  actions  and  relations  be- 
tween individuals.  In  them  the  actions  and  relations 
may  come  to  depend  almost  entirely  upon  speech. 
A  man,  for  instance,  may  woo  with  words  and, 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE   INSTINCTS     157 

through  them,  with  thoughts,  instead  of  with  direct 
physical  blandishments. 

We  now  turn  to  the  qualities  and  pleasures  and 
pains  of  the  Thought  instincts. 

According  to  the  strength  and  vigor  of  an  impulse 
in  a  train  of  action  or  thought,  we  may  use  such 
words  as  enthusiasm  or  zeal;  or,  on  the  other  hand, 
reluctance,  lukewarmness,  and  the  like. 

Of  the  continuance  of  an  impulse  through  a  train 
of  acts  or  thoughts,  we  may  use  such  words  as  de- 
termination, tenacity,  persistence,  patience,  industry, 
stubbornness,  and  obstinacy. 

Of  the  pleasures  and  displeasures  of  the  Thought 
instincts,  very  much  the  same  words  are  used  as  in 
the  Practical.  There  are,  however,  certain  special 
cases. 

If  the  mind  looks  forward  over  a  course  of  action 
and  discovers  no  serious  obstacle  to  prevent  its  satis- 
faction, its  condition  of  mental  pleasure  in  the  thought 
may  be  implied  in  such  words  as  assurance,  confi- 
dence, or  expectation.  A  lesser  degree  may  be  hope. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  may  be  worry,  uneasiness, 
anxiety,  misgiving,  or  hopelessness. 

Overflow  actions  in  the  Thought  grade  may  also  be 
much  the  same  as  in  the  Practical,  though  they  may 
also  take  the  form  of  lively  cheerful  thoughts  (which 
may  be  expressed  in  the  words  as  in  joking,  jeering, 
and  the  like,  in  the  Personal  instinct),  or  a  mere  easy 
mental  (or  perhaps  verbal)  repetition  of  the  accom- 
plished acts,  the  mind  going  over  and  over  them  under 
the  continued  strength  of  the  impulse. 


158  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

THE    IDEAL    INSTINCTS 

When  the  mind  has  found  that  the  experiences  of 
life  are  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  impulses  entirely, 
it  attempts  to  create  for  itself  in  thought  and  through 
imagination  a  perfect  satisfaction.  This  field  is  that 
of  the  Ideal,  and  the  impulses  when  laboring  in  it 
are  to  be  called  the  Ideal  impulses.  By  such  labor 
the  meaning  of  the  impulses  themselves  may  become 
more  clearly  defined  in  consciousness,  and  a  clearer 
relation  to  the  facts  of  the  world  be  discovered.  The 
acquisition  of  this  more  abstract  frame  of  mind  is  not 
possible  to  all  individuals,  and  may  be  regarded  as  a 
separate  and  higher  grade  of  the  mind.  In  religious 
parlance  the  change  from  the  Thought  grade  to  this 
may  be  conversion,  and  one  of  the  plain  benefits 
of  Christianity  is  that  it  has  insisted  upon  and  pro- 
moted the  acquisition  of  this  spiritual  state.  There 
are,  however,  many  other  forms  of  conversion  than 
that  of  religion,  if  indeed  religious  conversion  itself 
be  not  of  many  sorts  rather  than  of  one. 

There  are  at  least  three  distinct  methods  of 
attempting  the  Ideal  satisfaction  of  the  impulses. 
Either  (i)  the  attempt  may  be  made  to  discover  satis- 
faction in  the  world  as  it  is  (Science,  Ethics,  etc.); 
or  (2)  an  improved  imaginary  world  may  be  created 
(Art,  Social  theories,  etc.);  or  (3)  a  different  world, 
more  satisfactory  than  the  actual,  may  (thought 
faith)  be  believed  in  (Religion).  Any  impulse  may 
strive  in  the  field  of  Ideals,  which  is,  consequently,  of 
considerable  extent  and,  with  its  three  methods  of 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS     159 

treatment  (and  crosses  between  them,  of  course), 
variety. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  Ideal  beliefs  and  theories,  as 
they  are  merely  a  grade,  namely,  the  purest  forms  of 
the  instincts  applying  themselves  to  their  satisfaction 
in  thought,  do  not  require  a  large  knowledge  of  facts 
for  their  existence.  Hence  we  find  ideals  very  firmly 
settled  at  an  early  stage  in  history.  As,  however,  the 
instincts  cannot  be  cleared  by  a  small  experience 
(since  there  are  several  of  them,  and  each  has  many 
applications)  nor  be  wisely  applied  without  a  very 
wide  knowledge  of  men  and  facts  (partly,  indeed, 
because  no  one  man  is  likely  to  have  an  even  enough 
endowment  or  experience),  so  it  has  happened  that 
ideals  have  changed  constantly  and  broadened 
constantly  with  the  growth  of  science  and  of  experi- 
ence with  mankind,  and  we  of  later  ages  gaze  with 
amazement  at  the  simple  maxims  and  ironclad  de- 
cisions which  rulers  and  great  men  of  the  past  thought 
sufficient  for  the  settlement  of  all  the  questions  of  life; 
and  at  their  naive  faith  that  all  else  could  be  crushed 
or  would  disappear.  Even  now,  however,  such 
simple  natures  are  not  lacking — who  would  preach 
or  force  the  whole  world  into  some  exquisitely  plain 
(and  yet  profound)  method  of  meeting  all  life,  though 
in  reality  their  plan  may  meet  the  case  of  only  one 
human  being  in  ten,  and  cover  only  a  slight  fraction 
of  actual  existence. 

It  should  be  remarked  also  that  there  is  perhaps 
no  other  grade  of  the  mind  in  which  deceived  satis- 
factions play  a  larger  part  than  in  the  Ideal.  The 


160  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

vaguest  thoughts  will  sometimes,  in  this  grade,  re- 
sult (in  certain  minds)  in  the  liveliest  and  apparently 
most  complete  satisfactions.  £, 

It  will  be  noticed  that  the  instincts  have  much  in 
common.  Many  words  may  be  used  in  three  quite 
distinct  senses,  and  in  fact  are  regularly  so  used,  and 
often  without  conscious  distinction.  Confusion  not 
infrequently  arises  from  this  source,  a  word  being 
used  in  one  sense  and  understood  in  quite  another. 
Hence,  from  their  respective  points  of  view,  two 
combatants  may  fight  all  day  and  be  no  nearer  a 
settlement — both  being  quite  right.  Among  the 
words  most  frequently  misused  in  this  way  are  love, 
courage,  and  happiness;  will  and  thought. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  poets  sometimes  have  the 
knack  of  using  these  words  so  as  to  kill  many  birds 
with  one  stone.  Longfellow,  for  instance: 

I  see  the  lights  of  the  village 
Gleam  through  the  rain  and  the  mist, 

And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me 
That  my  soul  cannot  resist: 

A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing, 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 

As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain.     Etc.,  etc. 

Such  a  poem  (all  of  it  is  exquisite)  might  be  read 
with  sympathy  by  the  business  man,  the  lover,  or  the 
philanthropist,  each  in  his  own  way,  and  perhaps  not 
one  of  them  would  have  anything  of  importance  in 


THE  SIMILARITY  OF  THE  INSTINCTS      161 

common  with  either  of  the  other  two.  As  for  the 
poet's  mood,  the  lines  hardly  give  a  hint  of  what  its 
special  nature  was — if,  indeed,  it  had  a  special  nature, 
and  was  not,  rather,  compounded  of  two  or  three 
instincts  acting  together. 

It  should  be  noticed,  finally,  that  as  thought, 
reason,  determination,  courage,  and  many  other 
strong  or  excellent  powers  and  qualities  are  found  in 
all  the  instincts,  so  they  may  be  well  developed  in 
one  or  more  of  the  fields,  and  be  far  weaker  (or  even 
conspicuously  lacking)  in  others.  Ability  follows 
character^ .  and  the  striking  unions  of  frailty  and 
strength  in  human  lives  are  often  very  easily  recon- 
cilable in  thought. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT 

THE  Material  instinct  is  the  impulse  and  influence 
and  action  of  the  mind  as  related  to  the  substances 
of  which  it  is  or  may  be  composed.  It  would  be 
satisfied  by  the  perfection  of  the  individual  mind, 
either  through  the  addition  of  suitable  new  material 
or  through  a  suitable  arrangement  and  proportion 
of  the  parts  of  the  individual.  It  has  thus  two  dis- 
tinct interests:  one  toward  the  body  itself  and  the 
arrangement  and  proportion  of  its  parts;  the  other 
toward  matter  outside  of  it,  which  may  conceivably 
be  annexed  and  assimilated.  The  Material  instinct 
is  to  be  thought  of  as  controlling  both  of  these  inter- 
ests. 

The  perfection  of  the  individual  is  of  course  not  to 
be  considered  as  a  thought  or  imagination  of  the 
instinct.  We  should  say  rather  that  as  this  instinct 
is  more  or  less  satisfied,  the  body  and  mind  are  more 
or  less  perfect.  As  the  individual  minds  vary,  so  the 
perfections  vary.  Perfection  is  thus  to  be  understood 
as  an  individual,  not  a  specific,  thing.  Moreover,  in 
all  living  minds  it  is  only  approximately  attainable 


162 


THE  MATERIAL   INSTINCT  163 

THE    CELL-MATERIAL    INSTINCT 

The  Cell-Material  instinct  is  the  Material  instinct 
of  the  cell.  It  is  the  power  back  of  the  morphol- 
ogy of  the  cell,  /.  e.,  it  determines  the  existence  and 
shape  of  the  cell.  It  also  determines  the  cell's  relation 
to  its  food.  The  cell  through  it  is  sensitive  to  heat, 
light,  the  chemical  forces,  and  pressure.  Its  impulse 
is  made  definite  by  these,  with  resultant  actions,  such 
as  assimilation  and  purification  (either  directly,  or 
from  and  into  the  blood),  and  change  of  shape  (as 
notably  in  the  muscles).  Its  pleasures  and  pains  are 
those  commonly  called  "sensations" — warmth,  light, 
touch,  sound,  taste,  smell,  and  other  vaguer  feelings 
connected  with  experiences  of  hunger,  thirst,  sultri- 
ness, humidity,  fresh  air,  exercise,  and  the  like. 
Cells  have,  finally,  more  or  less  of  the  power  of 
regeneration,  and  (if  uncontrolled)  multiplication. 
The  relation  of  these  to  assimilation  has  been  ex- 
plained elsewhere. 

THE    BODY-MATERIAL    INSTINCT 

The  Body-Material  instinct  is  the  Material  instinct 
of  the  body,  without  reference  to  its  relations  to  the 
external  world.  It  is  the  morphological  power  in  the 
multicellular  plants  and  animals.  It  is  the  creator 
and  supporter  of  the  body  and  is  responsible  for  the 
arrangement  of  parts,  the  proportion,  and  the  size 
of  it. 

It  is  of  importance  that  this  should  be  clearly  noted. 
The  Material  instinct  is  responsible  for  the  very 
existence  of  the  body.  The  Personal  and  Social 


164  A   THEORY   OF   MIND 

instincts  presuppose  a  body.  They  may  influence 
its  arrangement  of  parts,  its  proportion,  and  its  size, 
but  this  cannot  go  beyond  influence.  The  actual 
existence  of  the  body  is  determined  by  no  other 
influence  than  that  of  the  Material. 

The  Body-Material  instinct  is  a  sympathetic  union 
and  fusion  of  the  cells  of  the  body.  All  the  cells  are 
subject  -to  its  regulation  and  are  controlled  morpho- 
logically and  physiologically  by  it.  If  any  part  es- 
capes from  it,  we  may  have  such  diseases  as  wither- 
ing, elephantiasis,  or  tumors  (such  as  cancer,  or  the 
galls  on  trees).  Artificial  separation  of  parts  has 
also  been  accomplished  in  some  animals  and  plants. 
In  this  way  a  two-headed  or  two-tailed  monster  may 
be  created;  but,  if  the  artificial  restrictions  are  re- 
moved, such  animals  soon  absorb  the  extra  parts,  and 
the  normal  form  and  proportion  is  again  secured. 

Regeneration  and  development  are  thus  controlled 
by  the  Body-Material  instinct,  as  are  also  the  casting 
off  of  impurities,  diseases,  and  poisons. 

It  may  be  well  to  note  clearly  the  fact  that  the 
Body-Material  instinct  works,  so  to  speak,  backward. 
The  cells  connected  by  it  suit  themselves  to  one 
another,  each  one  adapting  its  Cell-Material  instinct 
to  the  larger  control  of  the  body  as  a  whole.  We 
shall  hereafter  find  the  Social  instinct  (which  is  a 
repetition  of  the  Material)  similarly  active  in  in- 
fluence upon  the  lower  units. 

The  Body-Material  impulse  is  made  definite  by 
the  general  condition  of  the  body. 

Its  pleasures  are  those  of  the  body  as  a  whole,  the 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  165 

sense  of  health,  vitality,  refreshment,  tranquillity,  and 
well-being.  Its  pains,  those  of  weakness,  fatigue, 
sickness,  infirmity,  despondency,  depression,  de- 
bility, enervation,  nervousness,  and  the  like. 

It  will  be  noted  that  the  pleasures  of  the  instinct 
take  place  when  the  unity  of  the  body  is  more  perfect 
—when  it  is  more  perfectly  formed  and  well  knit 
together.  The  pains,  on  the  other  hand,  when  the 
bonds  of  unity  are  loosened,  and  the  parts  live  more 
or  less  independently  of  the  whole. 

THE    EXTRA-MATERIAL    INSTINCT 

Besides  the  body  proper,  most  animals  have  also 
as  part  of  them  certain  dead  matter  which  is  felt  as 
necessary  to  them.  The  Material  Instinct  controls  the 
formation  and  arrangement  of  these  parts,  though, 
of  course,  after  formation  they  commonly  remain 
fixed,  for  they  cannot  always  be  altered  readily  to 
suit  the  varying  impulses  of  the  organism.  The 
instinct  as  working  in  this  sphere  is  called  Extra. 

The  Extra  parts  of  the  human  body  are  the  bones, 
hair,  nails,  outer  skin,  and  cornea  of  the  eye.  They 
are  made  by  the  body,  but  are  not  subject  to  it  after 
they  are  finished. 

In  the  lower  animals  many  interesting  variations 
occur.  Most  quadrupeds  in  addition  to  skin  have 
a  full  coat  of  hair;  the  birds  have  feathers;  the  snakes 
a  peculiar  skin;  the  tortoises,  bivalves,  crabs,  and 
the  like,  an  external  shell.  All  these  cast  the  Extra 
parts,  wholly  or  in  part,  and  renew  them  again,  from 
time  to  time.  The  lobster,  as  we  have  noted,  cannot 


164  A   THEORY   OF   MIND 

instincts  presuppose  a  body.  They  may  influence 
its  arrangement  of  parts,  its  proportion,  and  its  size, 
but  this  cannot  go  beyond  influence.  The  actual 
existence  of  the  body  is  determined  by  no  other 
influence  than  that  of  the  Material. 

The  Body-Material  instinct  is  a  sympathetic  union 
and  fusion  of  the  cells  of  the  body.  All  the  cells  are 
subject  to  its  regulation  and  are  controlled  morpho- 
logically and  physiologically  by  it.  If  any  part  es- 
capes from  it,  we  may  have  such  diseases  as  wither- 
ing, elephantiasis,  or  tumors  (such  as  cancer,  or  the 
galls  on  trees).  Artificial  separation  of  parts  has 
also  been  accomplished  in  some  animals  and  plants. 
In  this  way  a  two-headed  or  two-tailed  monster  may 
be  created;  but,  if  the  artificial  restrictions  are  re- 
moved, such  animals  soon  absorb  the  extra  parts,  and 
the  normal  form  and  proportion  is  again  secured. 

Regeneration  and  development  are  thus  controlled 
by  the  Body-Material  instinct,  as  are  also  the  casting 
off  of  impurities,  diseases,  and  poisons. 

It  may  be  well  to  note  clearly  the  fact  that  the 
Body-Material  instinct  works,  so  to  speak,  backward. 
The  cells  connected  by  it  suit  themselves  to  one 
another,  each  one  adapting  its  Cell-Material  instinct 
to  the  larger  control  of  the  body  as  a  whole.  We 
shall  hereafter  find  the  Social  instinct  (which  is  a 
repetition  of  the  Material)  similarly  active  in  in- 
fluence upon  the  lower  units. 

The  Body-Material  impulse  is  made  definite  by 
the  general  condition  of  the  body. 

Its  pleasures  are  those  of  the  body  as  a  whole,  the 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  165 

sense  of  health,  vitality,  refreshment,  tranquillity,  and 
well-being.  Its  pains,  those  of  weakness,  fatigue, 
sickness,  infirmity,  despondency,  depression,  de- 
bility, enervation,  nervousness,  and  the  like. 

It  will  be  noted  that  the  pleasures  of  the  instinct 
take  place  when  the  unity  of  the  body  is  more  perfect 
— when  it  is  more  perfectly  formed  and  well  knit 
together.  The  pains,  on  the  other  hand,  when  the 
bonds  of  unity  are  loosened,  and  the  parts  live  more 
or  less  independently  of  the  whole. 

THE    EXTRA-MATERIAL    INSTINCT 

Besides  the  body  proper,  most  animals  have  also 
as  part  of  them  certain  dead  matter  which  is  felt  as 
necessary  to  them.  The  Material  Instinct  controls  the 
formation  and  arrangement  of  these  parts,  though, 
of  course,  after  formation  they  commonly  remain 
fixed,  for  they  cannot  always  be  altered  readily  to 
suit  the  varying  impulses  of  the  organism.  The 
instinct  as  working  in  this  sphere  is  called  Extra. 

The  Extra  parts  of  the  human  body  are  the  bones, 
hair,  nails,  outer  skin,  and  cornea  of  the  eye.  They 
are  made  by  the  body,  but  are  not  subject  to  it  after 
they  are  finished. 

In  the  lower  animals  many  interesting  variations 
occur.  Most  quadrupeds  in  addition  to  skin  have 
a  full  coat  of  hair;  the  birds  have  feathers;  the  snakes 
a  peculiar  skin;  the  tortoises,  bivalves,  crabs,  and 
the  like,  an  external  shell.  All  these  cast  the  Extra 
parts,  wholly  or  in  part,  and  renew  them  again,  from 
time  to  time.  The  lobster,  as  we  have  noted,  cannot 


168  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

comfort,  cosiness,  and  the  sense  of  safety,  security, 
and  the  like. 

That  these  are  in  general  the  feelings  of  animals  in 
this  relation,  has  often  been  noticed.  The  moulting 
bird,  the  shedding  dog,  the  serpent  or  crustacean  that 
has  cast  his  skin  or  shell — all  these  are  evidently  de- 
pressed and  nervous.  They  are  sometimes  described 
as  shy,  but  it  is  evidently  rather  a  dispirited  condition. 
So  the  spider  out  of  his  web  is  an  entirely  different 
animal  in  character  from  the  spider  in  his  web.  In 
the  one  case  he  is  all  nervousness;  in  the  other  all 
tranquillity  and  security.  The  destruction  of  an 
animal's  home,  in  short,  is  like  a  physical  harm 
done  the  animal,  and  he  is  not  at  rest  until  the 
home  has  been  replaced.  The  spider,  the  bee,  and 
the  squirrel  are  not  physically  complete  or  content 
until  they  have  their  retreats — not  merely  retreats 
but  theirs. 

Man's  clothing  is  perhaps  not  so  plain,  yet,  despite 
exceptions,  man  is  a  clothes-wearing  animal,  and  has 
a  feeling  about  it,  and  the  matter  is  not  entirely 
explicable  on  grounds  of  prudence  or  modesty,  though 
it  has  undoubtedly  been  affected  by  them.  (Of 
course,  clothing  is  often  very  immodest,  but  it  was 
not  invented  for  that  alone,  either.) 

Man's  houses,  again,  are  not  inventions  of  pru- 
dence, but  are  instinctively  built.  If  it  be  said  that 
houses  are  protective,  it  may  be  replied  that  this  is 
not  always  the  case  and  that  if  it  were,  it  is  still 
easy  to  think  that  he  might  have  protected  himself 
otherwise.  Moreover,  a  man  does  not  value  his 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT 

house  as  a  protection  chiefly,  but  as  a  place  and  as 
his  place.  He  feels  a  special  tranquillity  in  it. 

Again,  in  the  case  of  tools,  although  this  form  of 
the  instinct  has  been  much  more  affected  and  de- 
veloped by  reason  and  invention  than  either  the  house- 
building or  clothes- wearing  forms,  yet  its  universality, 
and  the  natural  adaptability  of  man  to  it,  make  it 
pretty  clear  that  it  is  by  origin  instinctive.  Note 
also  how  a  good  workman  or  artist  is  "alive"  to  the 
end  of  his  tool. 

As  this  style  of  thought  may  be  new  to  the  reader, 
it  will  be  well  for  him  to  be  on  his  guard  against  the 
thought  that  the  animals  have  in  their  acts  purposes 
other  than  the  satisfaction  of  immediate  impulses. 
The  nature  of  the  Extra  parts  of  an  animal  is  de- 
termined by  the  nature  of  the  animal's  impulse,  and 
not  by  the  use  to  which  the  Extra  parts  may  after- 
ward be  put.  The  spider,  for  instance,  is  not  to  be 
thought  of  as  building  his  web  to  catch  his  prey. 
He  builds  at  the  promptings  of  his  nature,  and  ac- 
cording to  his  nature,  and  will  build  so  under  any 
circumstances,  and  though  he  may  never  have  seen 
an  insect.  And  so  of  all  animals. 

A  striking  fact  should  be  noted  here,  namely,  how 
the  impulses  in  different  situations  accomplish 
similar  results,  although  the  means  employed  may 
be  quite  unlike.  On  the  one  hand,  by  mere  exuda- 
tion, the  Extra-Material  instinct  may  form  a  delicate 
and  perfectly  characteristic  sea-shell;  on  the  other, 
by  a  very  elaborate  act,  it  may  produce  a  spider's 
web  or  an  oriole's  nest — equally  delicate,  equally 


170  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

characteristic.  We  shall  find  this  general  state  of 
things  common,  and  we  can  say  of  it  only  what  we 
said  in  our  axiom — an  impulse  is  a  release  of  force 
that  tends  to  result  in  the  satisfaction  of  the  impulse. 
For  while  it  is  plain  that  we  cannot  actually  follow 
the  details  of  the  action  of  the  impulse  in  the  forma- 
tion of  a  delicate  shell,  it  turns  out  to  be  equally 
difficult  for  the  reason  to  follow  the  weaving  of  the 
spider  or  the  bird.  Each  animal  secretes  or  builds 
as  though  it  had  some  thought  or  plan  of  its  result, 
and  not  as  though  it  were  working  tentatively  under 
the  constant  leadings  of  the  satisfaction  or  dissatisfac- 
tion of  the  impulse.  Doubtless  the  latter  explana- 
tion is  the  fact  and  not  the  former;  but  in  any  case  a 
comparison  of  the  acts  of  the  impulse  in  shell- 
building  with  those  in  nest-building  cannot  but  result 
in  a  growing  sense  of  wonder  at  the  similarity  of  the 
results  and  the  seemingly  utter  dissimilarity  of  the 
methods  of  attaining  them. 

THE    PRACTICAL-MATERIAL    INSTINCT 

The  Practical-Material  instinct  is  the  Material 
instinct  of  the  body  unit  in  its  relation  to  external 
matter.  Our  study  of  it  is  the  study  of  the  body- 
mind  in  its  active  relations  with  the  external  world, 
so  far  as  the  external  world  may  become  assimilated 
and  made  part  of  that  mind — either  of  its  living  or 
of  its  Extra  parts.  It  differs  from  the  Personal  and 
Social  instincts  in  that  it  has  no  interest  in  other 
individuals  like  itself,  as  such.  Its  interest  in  them, 
if  it  has  any,  is  purely  as  they  are  substances. 


THE  MATERIAL   INSTINCT  171 

The  essential  fact  of  the  Practical-Material  grade 
is  that  certain  external  substances  so  affect  the 
Material  impulse  that  the  unit  moves  toward  or 
away  from  them,  and,  if  toward,  goes  through  certain 
actions  to  assimilate  them.  This  sort  of  action  in 
response  to  the  Material  impulse  has  existed  at  all 
stages  of  the  life  of  the  organism;  hence  the  impulse 
is  the  responsible  agent  for  those  formations  in  the 
body  which  make  such  acts  possible  or  practicable. 
It  is  thus  responsible  for  the  unity  of  the  active  body 
— the  correlation  of  the  actions  of  muscles,  glands, 
and  the  like.  Before  taking  these  up  more  in  detail, 
another  word  should  be  said  of  what  may  be  called 
the  priority  of  the  Material  instinct. 

We  have  already  noted  that  the  Material  instinct  is 
to  be  regarded  as  the  essential  cause  of  the  body  as 
a  passive  unit.  It  is  the  formative  impulse,  and, 
though  it  may  be  affected  by  the  other  instincts,  yet 
they  could  not  have  made  a  body;  they  presuppose 
its  existence.  The  same  is  true  of  the  active  body. 
From  the  time  the  primitive  cell  divides,  and  long 
before  the  Personal  and  Social  instincts  come  clearly 
into  being,  the  Material  instinct  is  active  and  in 
control.  It  forms  and  maintains  the  details  of  the 
possible  activities  of  the  organism.  Moreover,  it  is 
the  first  instinct  to  be  active  in  the  new-born  animal; 
and  when  in  old  age  the  others  have  died  out,  it  still 
remains,  the  last  upon  the  stage. 

Its  activities  are  thus  prior  to  those  of  the  other 
two  instincts,  and  are  the  basis  upon  which  they  build. 
They  may  affect  it;  they  may  even  be  stronger  than 


172  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

it;  but  it  must  always  be  actively  present  supporting 
the  body,  and  if  they  are  to  act,  it  must  be  through 
its  bones  and  muscles  and  brain.  They  thus,  both 
of  them,  presuppose  the  Material  instinct. 

The  Practical-Material  instinct  is  thus  to  be 
thought  of  as  responsible  for  the  arrangement  of  the 
specialized  cells  of  the  alimentary  canal,  the  liver, 
etc.;  for  the  circulatory  system;  for  the  heart,  with 
its  pumping  action;  for  the  kneading  muscles  of  the 
intestines;  for  the  biting,  chewing,  and  swallowing 
muscles  of  the  head  and  throat;  and,  finally,  for  the 
muscles  that  make  possible  the  movements  of  hands 
and  arms  (or  legs)  to  the  mouth,  and  the  movements 
of  limbs  and  body,  bringing  about  relations  to  ex- 
ternal objects.  Moreover,  there  are  the  lungs,  to 
provide  the  body  with  oxygen;  and  the  special  or- 
gans of  sense  and  thought  to  put  us  in  touch  with 
outside  influences.  There  are  also  organs  of  the 
reverse  sort,  namely,  to  expel  impurities  from  the 
body.  Such  are  the  lungs,  pores,  and  kidneys;  and 
the  bladder  and  intestines.  All  these,  and  others, 
which,  like  them,  work  directly  to  the  advantage  of 
the  organism  in  its  external  relations,  are  to  be 
ascribed  to  the  Practical-Material  instinct.  They 
are,  as  we  have  supposed,  differentiations  and 
specializations  for  duties  originally  done  without 
specialization.  It  is  to  be  noted  also  that  the  useful 
organs  of  the  body  are  not  merely  those  of  the  living 
cells,  but,  quite  as  regularly,  those  of  the  Extra  parts. 
The  human  skeleton,  for  instance,  though  Extra,  is 
useful  and  indeed  indispensable  in  the  movements 


THE  MATERIAL   INSTINCT  173 

of  the  body.  Similarly,  the  feathers  of  birds  in 
flying;  and  the  armor  of  tortoises  and  bivalves  in 
movement.  Often  such  parts  are  actually  tools,  e.g., 
the  claws  of  many  animals,  the  teeth  of  rodents,  the 
nippers  of  the  lobster,  etc.  These  are  dead  parts 
used  by  the  organism  as  man  (by  the  same  instinct) 
uses  artificial  helps  to  his  members. 

The  Practical-Material  impulses  of  the  mind  may 
be  said  to  be  (i)  the  appetites  of  hunger,  and  thirst, 
and  the  likings  for  warmth,  light,  and  air;  and  (2) 
those  inclinations  connected  with  the  existence,  situa- 
tion, or  parts  of  the  home,  i.e.,  with  sticks,  straw, 
wood  (in  paper-nesting  insects),  or  a  suitable  place 
to  dig  or  bore  or  build.  These  impulses  all  exist 
in  advance  of  experience. 

When  aroused  without  external  defmiteness,  they 
result  in  actions  such  as  wandering,  prowling,  hunt- 
ing; and  are  in  general  the  predatory  instinct,  or  the 
building  or  nesting  instinct. 

Almost  any  influence  from  without  may  arouse 
them  to  attention,  interest,  and  curiosity.  The 
Material  instinct  is  indeed  by  far  the  most  inquisitive 
of  all  impulses. 

The  impulses  of  the  Material  instinct  are  made 
definite,  and  a  fused  perception  results,  through  influ- 
ences received  in  tastes,  odors,  light,  heat,  pressure, 
and  sound;  and  may  become  definite,  either  positively 
or  negatively.  If  positively,  the  result  is  a  movement 
toward  the  source  of  the  influence.  (It  is  to  be  noted 
that  a  pulling  of  the  object  toward  the  organism  is 
really  a  movement  toward  it,  the  movement  of  the 


174  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

object  occurring  merely  because  the  object  is  of 
lighter  weight.  Note  that  among  such  actions  is  to 
be  included  the  drawing  of  air  into  the  lungs.)  If 
the  impulse  is  negative,  the  result  is  a  movement  from 
the  source  of  influence.  (The  pushing  of  the  object 
from  the  organism  is  likewise  a  movement  from  it.) 

The  actions  following  the  approach  to  the  object 
may  be  various,  and  various  words  are  used  of  them. 

If  the  attractive  sensation  arouses  the  home- 
building  impulse,  the  organism  may  dig  or  bore  or 
arrange  materials  (stones,  wood,  or  exudations),  and, 
according  to  its  force  or  energy,  may  be  called  eager, 
assiduous,  industrious,  lazy,  slack,  and  the  like. 

If  the  sensation  arouses  the  body-building  impulse, 
e.g.,  hunger,  the  accomplishment  of  its  satisfaction 
may  be  far  less  easy.  In  the  carnivora,  for  instance, 
we  may  notice  various  details.  The  sense  organs  are 
all  turned  to  the  object.  The  eyes  glare  or  frown. 
(All  this  is  attention.)  The  teeth  may  be  shown  in  a 
snarl  or  grin.  The  larynx  may  utter  sounds.  The 
salivary  glands  may  be  excited.  (All  this  is  an  antici- 
patory release  of  the  force  of  the  impulse.)  The 
animal  hastens  or  rushes  or  springs  toward  its  object; 
seizes  it  with  teeth  or  perhaps  otherwise;  tears  it, 
chews  it,  or  otherwise  prepares  it  to  enter  the  mouth; 
finally  swallows  it.  The  attack  may  be  called  fero- 
cious and  the  state  of  mind  ferocity.  Such  words  as 
courage  and  boldness  may  also  be  used.  The  eating 
may  be  said  to  be  voracious,  or  gluttonous. 

After  the  object  has  entered  the  mouth  it  is  shoved 
along  the  intestinal  canal,  treated  with  juices  and 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  175 

kneaded  up;  and  the  suitable  intestinal  cells  feed 
upon  it,  taking  out  suitable  molecules  and  passing 
them  to  the  blood,  whence  the  various  cells  of  the 
body  abstract  what  is  necessary  for  them.  The 
useless  and  waste  portions  of  the  object  are  then 
shoved  along  and  cast  out  at  the  vent. 

What  we  would  call  first  to  the  reader's  attention 
is  the  "repetition"  in  these  acts  of  the  impulse, 
namely,  that  the  food  is  first  treated  and  taken  into 
the  larger  unit  of  the  body;  then  treated  and  taken 
into  the  special  cavities  of  the  arteries;  the  actual 
assimilation  into  the  cells  being  then  a  third  repeti- 
tion. In  animals  possessing  homes  or  Extra  bodies, 
there  is  usually  still  another  step  or  repetition,  the 
food  or  prey  being  first  taken  into  the  home  (lair  or 
den),  quite  or  almost  unharmed.  We  have  then  four 
steps  of  repetition  in  the  working  of  the  instinct — the 
food  is  taken  into  (i)  the  Extra  body,  (2)  the  body, 
(3)  the  arteries,  and,  finally,  (4)  is  assimilated  to  the 
cells. 

We  wish  also  at  this  point  to  insist  upon  a  point  of 
a  more  general  nature.  In  the  interpretation  of  the 
actions  of  animals  (and  all  actions  must  be  inter- 
preted psychologically),  it  is  important  to  insist  that 
all  movements  toward  an  object  are  by  origin  acts  of 
positive  and  never  of  negative  impulse.  Negative 
impulses  can  produce  originally  only  acts  of  retreat. 
Negative  impulses,  if  strong,  may  act  like  positive 
ones,  and  the  positive,  if  strong,  like  negative.  What 
must  be  insisted  upon  is  the  identification  of  all  such 
acts.  In  many  cases  this  is  simple  enough.  When, 


176  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

for  instance,  the  tiger  attacks  for  any  reason,  we  may 
recognize,  perhaps,  the  movements  of  attacking  his 
prey.  In  other  cases,  however,  it  is  not  so  plain. 
The  bee  attacks  with  his  sting;  certain  of  the  herbiv- 
ora  use  their  horns.  Such  cases  will  come  up  as  we 
proceed.  We  merely  call  attention  to  the  general 
principle  that  such  acts  must  be  explained,  and  that 
in  so  far  as  they  are  acts  of  approach,  they  must  be 
by  origin  acts  of  positive  and  not  of  negative  impulse. 
Undoubtedly  the  position  encounters  difficulties,  but 
the  method  gives  promise  of  solid  and  enlightening 
explanations  and  classifications. 

We  may  now  return  to  our  subject. 

It  often  happens  that  an  animal  finds  its  food  in 
larger  quantities  than  it  has  any  immediate  need  for. 
In  this  case  several  acts  may  happen,  (i)  Either 
the  animal  may  cease  to  put  the  food  into  the  body; 
or  (2)  it  may  fill  the  body  to  excess  (this  is  called 
gluttony,  but  in  certain  animals,  e.g.,  the  snakes,  is 
regular);  or  (3)  it  may  take  it  into  the  body,  though 
not  into  the  alimentary  canal  (camels  thus  take  in 
water,  the  ruminants  grass,  and  monkeys  and 
squirrels  food  into  mouth  pouches1);  or  (4)  it  may 
take  it  into  the  Extra  body  (as  bees  take  honey, 
squirrels  nuts,  etc.). 

The  repetition  in  these  cases  is  evident.  The 
snakes  exhibit  an  act  which  might  be  called  a  result 
of  alimentary  hunger;  the  camel,  of  bodily  hunger; 
the  bees,  of  Extra  bodily  hunger. 

1  The  same  instinct  may  also  be  noticed  in  plants,  e.  g.,  beets, 
cacti,  seeds,  etc. 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  177 

Of  course,  these  acts  have  been  described  as  fore- 
thought, etc.  The  camel  saves  against  the  droughts 
of  the  deserts;  the  bees  and  squirrels  against  the 
winter;  etc.  Such  theories  fall  to  the  ground  at  once. 
Camels  know  nothing  of  droughts,  nor  bees  and 
squirrels  of  winter.  How  should  they  ?  Moreover, 
they  perform  their  acts  in  advance  of  all  experience 
of  drought  or  winter.  Certainly,  we  do  not  mean  to 
say,  here  or  elsewhere,  that  habits  of  economic  im- 
portance are  not  selected  (and  so,  indirectly,  in- 
creased) by  natural  selection.  Undoubtedly  they 
may  be  so  selected  and  increased.  But  they  must 
exist  in  order  to  be  selected  and  increased,  and  their 
existence  and  perpetuation  must  rest  upon  grounds 
in  the  nature  of  the  animal — in  character,  in  short. 

We  have  thus,  then,  a  general  explanation  of  the 
hoarding  instinct  in  animals.  It  seems  pretty  clear 
that  this  variety  of  the  Practical-Material  instinct 
exists  also  in  man,  though  much  of  his  hoarding  and 
saving  is  clearly  due  to  prudence  or  love  of  power. 

A  curious  and  not  altogether  clear  detail  of  this 
instinct  is  the  habit,  found  in  some  cases,  of  hiding 
the  stored  object.  Thus,  bees  cover  their  honey. 
It  would  seem  that  the  taking  of  honey  into  the 
Extra  body  is  not  complete  so  long  as  the  food  is 
visible.1 

The  burying  of  bones  by  dogs  is  apparently  another 
instance  of  the  same  sort.  The  digging  of  a  hole 
and  the  placing  of  the  bone  in  it  are  simple  enough, 
or  may  be.  The  hole  may  represent,  or  be  the  prod- 

1  See  also  pp.  281-2. 


178  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

uct  of  the  same  instinct  as,  a  den.     The  covering  of 

the  hole,  however,  is  an  act  of  quite  a  different  nature. 

It  would  seem  that,  as  in  the  case  of  the  bee,  the  object 

is  not  considered  fully  within  the  Extra  body  so  long 

as  it  is  in  sight.     Hence  the  dog  noses  about  it  until 

it  has  disappeared.     Undoubtedly  experience  helps 

I  in  the  successful  accomplishment  of  this  act.     Note 

I  especially,  however,  that  the  dog  must  not  be  con- 

/  sidered  as  intentionally  hiding  the  bone  from  the 

/  sight  of  other  dogs.     The  other  dogs  absolutely  can- 

{  not  enter  into  the  question. 

We  now  turn  to  those  cases  in  which  the  Practical- 
Material  instinct  is  made  definite  but  negative. 

In  most  cases  the  Material  impulse  is  quite  in- 
different to  influences  from  objects  that  can  be  of  no 
use  to  it.  When,  however,  such  substances  interfere 
with  its  perfection,  the  impulse  becomes  definitely 
negative,  and  the  result  is  a  movement  from  the 
object — or  a  pushing  of  the  object  from  it. 

Here  the  case  of  impurities  within  the  body  con- 
cerns us.  The  repetitions  are  like  those  in  the  case 
of  the  positive  impulse,  but  in  the  reverse  order. 
Impurities  may  be  cast  out  of  the  cells  into  the 
blood  :l  from  the  blood  they  pass,  more  or  less  directly, 
into  the  lungs,  bladder,  intestines,  or  pores;  from 
these  they  are  cast  out  of  the  body.  The  impulse 
thus  follows  them  through  the  various  stages  until 
their  exit.  Not  only  so,  but  the  impurities  are  regu- 
larly cast  out  of  the  Extra  body — nest,  den,  or  the 

1  Exceptional  impurities,  as  in  the  case  of  a  bullet,  may  be  pushed 
out  directly. 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  179 

like — the  impulse  thus  tending  to  keep  the  home 
neat  and  clean.  Most  animals  go  from  their  homes 
to  defecate,  and  the  feces  of  the  young  are  regularly 
carried  to  a  distance  by  the  mature  animals. 

The  repetitions  of  this  form  of  the  impulse,  then, 
are:  (i)  cell-purification,  into  the  blood,  etc.;  (2) 
body-purification,  of  matter  that  may  never  have 
been  in  the  body  itself,  but  merely  in  the  intestines, 
etc.;  (3)  Extra-purification,  as  when  the  den  is  kept 
clean.  Similar  Extra-purification  is  seen  when  the 
cat  cleans  its  fur  and  the  bird  bathes  and  preens  its 
feathers.  So  also  man  cleans  his  skin,  his  clothes, 
his  house,  and  his  tools. 

Of  interest  in  this  connection  is  the  burial  of  their 
feces  by  certain  animals.  Cats  and  dogs,  for 
instance,  bury  their  excrements.  This  has  been 
explained  as  an  effort  to  hide  from  their  enemies  the 
evidences  of  their  presence.  We  do  not  suppose 
that  such  an  explanation  is  either  psychologically 
tenable  or  even  supported  by  the  plain  facts.  There 
is  no  evidence  that  either  cats  or  dogs  have  the  desire 
to  hide  their  presence.  Both,  for  instance,  have  the 
habit  (the  males,  that  is)  of  urinating  against  land- 
marks— a  habit  which  certainly  reveals  their  presence 
to  others  of  their  kind,  and  would  reveal  them  to 
their  enemies  far  more  than  the  burial  could  protect 
them,  supposing,  which  may  be  doubted,  that  such 
burial  protects  them  at  all.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
is  an  utter  mistake  to  think  of  the  animals  as  planning 
to  elude  unseen  enemies.  Their  acts  have  definite 
impulses,  but  the  far-seeing  plan  is  not  among  them. 


180  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

We  fall  back,  then,  on  the  simple  theory  that  in  the 
case  of  the  cat,  at  least,  the  acts  are  influenced  by  the 
impulse  of  the  Extra  body.  Why  the  cat  should 
treat  its  feces  as  the  dog  treats  an  extra  bone  (except 
that  the  cat  covers  with  its  paws)  is  hard  to  see,  and 
I  can  suggest  only  that  its  extreme  sense  (impulse)  of 
neatness  may  experience  acute  pleasure  in  defeca- 
tion, and  that,  as  an  overflow  act,  it  behaves  toward 
an  object  of  indifference  or  even  of  some  slight 
repugnance  as  though  it  were  an  object  of  positive 
impulse.  (The  actions  seem  plainly  positive.)  This 
suggestion  seems  weak,  since,  for  one  thing,  the  cat 
does  not  bury  foods.  The  behavior  of  the  cat  is, 
on  the  other  hand,  extremely  puzzling.  In  the  case 
of  the  dog,  the  case  seems  and  may  be  simpler.  The 
dog  scratches  the  earth,  barks,  and  urinates  over  his 
feces,  and  does  not  properly  bury  them  at  all.  His 
acts  are  apparently  overflow  acts  of  pleasure,  chiefly 
of  the  Personal  or  sexual  sort.  We  may  suppose  that 
the  presence  of  impurities  within  him  is  depressing, 
or,  at  any  rate,  that  the  voiding  of  them  is  sexually 
exciting.  In  either  case,  the  relief,  and  consequent 
pleasure,  of  defecation  might  result  in  overflow  acts 
of  Personal  pleasure. 

The  Practical-Material  negative  impulse  may  take 
the  form  of  what  is  called  bodily  fear  or  fright.  The 
effect  of  this  negative  impulse  is  to  counteract  and 
lessen  the  positive  Body-Material  fusion.  Hence  the 
frightened  animal  acts  in  a  disordered  manner,  and, 
besides  moving  from  the  object  of  sensation,  may 
show  signs  that  the  cells  of  the  body  are  acting  inde- 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  181 

pendently  of  the  body  as  a  whole.  Perceptions  may 
not  fuse  properly.  The  animal  may  seem  deaf  or 
blind.  Glands  may  work  violently  or  not  at  all  or 
convulsively.  The  body  may  tremble.  The  heart 
may  beat  violently  and  irregularly.  The  state  may 
go  so  far  as  to  result  in  physical  helplessness,  faint- 
ing, or  even  death. 

Sensations  causing  Material  or  physical  fear  are 
those  that  are  of  such  a  sort  that  the  perception  cannot 
(from  the  nature  of  the  body)  result  in  a  clear  fusion, 
or,  from  another  point  of  view,  they  are  experiences 
which  disturb  the  unity  of  the  body-mind. 

The  commonest  of  these  experiences  are  perhaps 
those  in  which  some  harm  is  done  to  the  organism- 
cither  to  the  body  or  to  the  Extra  body.  In  these 
cases  the  unity  of  the  mind  is  harmed  physically, 
and  pain  results,  with  fear,  and  the  withdrawal,  if 
possible,  of  the  hurt  part  or  of  the  entire  organism. 
Sometimes  the  mere  pain  of  a  disease  will  cause  an 
animal  to  rush  about  in  an  attempt  to  escape  the  pain 
— as  when  a  dog  or  horse  runs  "mad"  (compare  with 
the  dog  and  the  tin  can);  or  when  a  sick  man  paces 
the  room,  however  well  he  knows  the  uselessness 
of  it. 

Another  case  of  fear,  with  similar  actions,  occurs 
when  phenomena  alter  so  rapidly  that  the  mind  is 
unable  to  fuse  them  instantly  into  perceptions. 

So,  a  sudden  noise,  or  touch,  or  light,  or  movement, 
is  startling,  until  the  mind  fuses  the  phenomenon  to 
a  perception. 

So,  again,  a  sudden  growth  in  brilliancy  or  loud- 


182  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ness  or  apparent  size  causes  alarm.  All  animals  are 
confused  at  coming  suddenly  from  a  lesser  light  to  a 
brilliant  one;  or  from  comparative  quiet  to  a  loud 
noise;  or  at  being  suddenly  confronted  with  a  very 
large  object.  This  lasts  until  the  mind  can  fuse  the 
phenomena. 

Again,  a  rapid  alteration  in  the  appearance  of  a 
phenomenon  is  alarming.  The  most  important  of 
these  cases  are  those  in  which  the  angle  of  vision  is 
rapidly  increased.  This  may  take  place  either  by 
the  rapid  approach  of  an  object  or  by  a  change  in  its 
position.  An  animal  rising  to  its  feet  or  rearing  on 
its  hind  legs  is  startling.  I  noticed  not  long  since  a 
kitten,  whose  eyes  had  not  been  open  more  than  a 
day,  scared  and  backing  away  from  the  appearance 
of  sand  thrown  several  feet  up  into  the  air  by  a  small 
boy  distant  perhaps  twenty  feet  from  it.  On  the 
other  hand,  a  rapidly  approaching  hawk,  by  its  in- 
crease in  apparent  size,  scares  the  birds,  and  indeed 
any  rapidly  approaching  object  scares  any  animal. 
The  human  infant  as  soon  as  it  can  notice,  will  blink 
its  eyes  at  the  approach  of  a  hand  toward  them, 
though  the  hand  may  be  at  a  distance  of  several  feet. 
This  fear  of  looming  objects  is  no  doubt  the  secret 
of  the  possibility,  in  flying  animals,  of  avoiding 
obstacles  from  the  first — and,  indeed,  at  all  times, 
since  they  can  have  no  proper  conception  of  space. 

A  diminution  in  apparent  size  ordinarily  causes 
no  confusion  and  is  not  disagreeable,  but  if  sudden 
may  alarm.  The  child's  appreciation  of  the  soap- 
bubble  is  of  this  sort.  The  growth  of  the  bubble  is  or 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  183 

may  be  startling,  if  rapid;  the  explosion  is  regularly 
startling;  the  recovery  from  the  startled  condition  is 
pleasant  and  is  evinced  by  certain  overflow  actions. 

Finally,  any  phenomenon  that  changes  too  rapidly 
to  be  followed,  may  cause  alarm.  An  object  moving 
swiftly  across  the  field  of  vision;  a  rapidly  waved 
stick  or  fist;  the  whirling  of  the  parts  of  a  large 
machine,  etc.,  may  cause  alarm. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  in  all  these  cases  there  may 
be  no  actual  repugnance  to  the  object  causing  the 
fear.  The  fear  is  caused  by  the  nature  of  the  phe- 
nomenon and  that  of  the  organism.  In  a  given  case 
the  amount  of  fear  will  be  related  inversely  to  the 
strength  of  the  body-fusion  and  to  the  strength  and 
rapidity  of  the  fusions  of  perceptions;  and  directly 
to  the  sensitiveness  to  external  influences. 

It  may  be  well  to  notice,  also,  that  as  the  other 
instincts  presuppose  the  Material,  so  they  are  in- 
directly affected  by  what  affects  it.  Hence,  in  actual 
cases  we  may  expect  to  find  Material  phenomena 
often  accompanied  by  Personal  and  Social  ones. 
The  sorting  out  of  these  should  not  be  of  insuperable 
difficulty  after  the  separate  phenomena  under  each 
instinct  have  been  identified. 

The  simplest  action  in  cases  of  fright  is  that  of 
retreat  or  flight.  If,  however,  the  fright  be  great,  as 
in  terror  or  panic,  the  actions  may  be  those  of  the 
positive  impulse,  and  the  animal  may  approach  the 
object  of  fear  and  may  show  the  outward  signs  of 
ferocity  and  fury — not  infrequently  Personal  in  part. 

An  interesting  and  somewhat  complicated  case  is 


184  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

that  of  the  moth  and  the  flame.  The  moth  sleeps 
during  the  day,  but  wakes  and  flies  about  at  night. 
If  now  the  moth  comes  suddenly  into  a  bright  glare 
of  light,  it  is  stricken  with  fear.  In  most  cases  the 
result  is  a  precipitate  retreat,  but  in  many  the  moth 
is  so  far  gone  that  it  plunges  toward  the  flame.  Com- 
monly, however,  even  in  this  case,  it  is  not  entirely 
beyond  control,  and  between  its  desire  to  retreat  and 
its  panic  leading  it  to  advance,  it  circles  round  and 
round  the  light.  Three  things  may  then  happen. 
Either  (i)  its  panic  increases  and  it  plunges  into  the 
flame — usually  again  and  again  until  disabled;  or  (2) 
its  fear  gains  control,  and  it  flies  away;  or  (3)  it 
grows  accustomed  to  the  light  (fuses  it  into  a  percep- 
tion), settles  down  in  some  shaded  place,  if  possible, 
and  goes  to  sleep  as  it  would  in  the  sunlight. 

The  cases  in  which  animals  will  attack  those  who 
harm  them  or  their  homes  or  their  stores,  or  who 
scare  them,  are  of  course  innumerable  and  need  not 
be  gone  into.  The  actions  vary  greatly  and  in  many 
cases  are  far  from  being  merely  Material.  In  so  far 
as  they  are  not  Material,  they  cannot,  however,  be 
treated  here,  but  must  wait  the  examination  of  the 
other  instincts.  We  need  only  notice  that  in  the 
case  of  man,  actions  springing  from  these  sources 
(but  with  memory),  have  been  of  constant  and  great 
importance  in  every  era  of  history,  and  are  being 
more  and  more  emphasized — perhaps  over-empha- 
sized— by  our  historians. 

We  have  already  mentioned  the  pleasures  and  dis- 
pleasures of  the  practical  material  instinct.  It  will 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  185 

be  understood  that  the  pleasures  take  place,  after  a 
negative  impulse,  when,  for  any  cause,  the  impulse 
ceases;  and  that  so  long  as  the  negative  impulse 
continues,  there  is  the  feeling  of  displeasure. 

The  overflow  acts  of  pleasure  are  such  acts  as  we 
think  of  in  steadiness,  briskness,  vivacity,  exuber- 
ance, friskiness,  exhilaration,  and,  in  general,  animal 
spirits. 

The  overflow  acts  of  displeasure  may  be  those  con- 
nected with  such  words  as  fretfulness,  feverishness, 
and  the  like. 

THE    RECOGNITION-MATERIAL    INSTINCT 

The  Recognition-Material  instinct  is  the  Practical- 
Material  instinct  with  the  addition  of  so  much 
memory  as  is  implied  in  recognition. 

An  important  advance  made  through  this  new 
form  of  the  instinct  is  the  increase  in  the  extent  of  the 
Extra  body.  Many  animals  never  quit  the  artificial 
Extra  parts.  The  snail  does  not  ordinarily  leave  his 
shell,  nor  the  spider  his  den  or  web.  Others,  how- 
ever, like  the  birds,  bees,  and  the  mammalia,  go  out, 
more  or  less,  into  adjacent  territory  which  is  quite 
unchanged  and  unassimilated  to  their  special  uses. 
In  these  cases,  recognition  makes  it  possible  to  spread 
the  feeling  of  the  Extra  body  over  an  increased  space; 
and  this  occurs.  As  the  animal  grows  familiar  with 
the  neighborhood,  the  sense  of  home  spreads,  with  a 
power  gradually  lessening  with  distance,  to  include 
the  familiar  region,  toward  which,  accordingly,  the 
animal  feels  the  Material  relationship.  Birds,  thus, 


186  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

for  instance,  often  have  a  strong  interest  in  the  tree 
(and  even  the  neighboring  environs  beyond  it),  where 
their  nest  is  built.  They  are  much  aroused  at  the 
entrance  of  any  strange  object  or  animal  into  these 
precincts.  Their  feeling  of  disturbance  increases  as 
the  nest  itself  is  approached;  and  decreases  as  the 
intruder  retires;  at  a  regular  distance  it  diminishes 
practically  to  nothing.  The  actual  distance  to  which 
it  is  felt,  however,  would  evidently  be  greater,  namely, 
would  include  all  the  land  over  which  the  bird  habitu- 
ally wanders  and  from  which  it  returns  home.  In 
some  cases  this  means  many  miles  of  territory,  of 
which  the  nest  itself  is  the  nucleus.  The  exhibitions 
of  memory  in  such  cases  are  the  first  and  lowest  to  be 
observed  in  nature.  The  act  itself  is  called  homing; 
and  the  instinct,  the  homing  instinct.  It  may  be 
observed  in  many  animals,  but  no  cases  are  more 
striking  than  those  of  birds  and  bees. 

The  mental  action  is  not  hard  to  follow  in  theory. 
The  impulse  urging  the  animal  to  wander  is  most 
commonly  the  Material  one  of  hunger.  In  propor- 
tion as  the  wandering  carries  the  animal  from  the 
nucleus  (the  nest),  the  sense  of  home  diminishes. 
If  now  the  impulse  of  hunger  (or  whatever  it  may 
have  happened  to  be)  is  satisfied,  or  if  the  animal  is 
scared,  it  will  retire  into  a  more  satisfactory  position. 
But  of  the  various  objects  within  sight,  those  will 
offer  satisfaction  in  which  the  home  sense  is  greater 
than  it  is  in  its  present  position.  Hence  it  will  move 
toward  them;  from  them  it  will  then  pass  to  others 
in  which  the  sense  of  home  is  still  stronger;  and  it 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  187 

will  thus  finally  arrive  at  the  home  itself,  though  it  has 
not  had  any  real  thought  of  the  journey  as  a  whole. 
Mere  recognition  of  present  objects  will  be  sufficient. 

The  most  wonderful  exhibitions  of  the  homing 
instinct  are  the  feats  accomplished  by  the  migrating 
instinct  of  birds  and  fish.  These  acts  with  certain 
others  will  be  discussed  under  the  Social  instinct,  and 
need  only  be  mentioned  here. 

In  man,  the  sense  of  home  resulted  in  a  claim 
to  the  land  about  his  house — /.  ^.,  a  readiness 
to  resent  any  sort  of  encroachment  upon  it  as  an 
encroachment  upon  him.  Hence  the  feeling  of 
ownership  in  land.  It  may  be  well  to  notice  that 
such  a  feeling  toward  land,  /.  £.,  the  resentment  of 
encroachment,  is  dependent  upon  the  irritability  of 
the  animal  and  not  upon  the  sense  of  home  itself. 
/Dogs,  for  instance,  have  a  clear  sense  of  ownership 
of  land,  in  the  human  sense;  while  cats,  with  no 
disposition  to  resent  intrusion  by  any  action,  have  a 
<  much  stronger  sense  and  need  of  home. 

Beside  the  feeling  of  ownership  in  land,  the  Extra- 
Material  home  feeling  in  man  ordinarily  extends  to 
some  degree  over  the  familiar  approaches,  and  indeed  U    . __  t 
(  the  whole  landscape  in  which  the  house  lies.     This  Jj_tj<  '  " 
may  be  distinctly  felt  by  any  one  who,  having  trav-  / 

elled  for  some  time,  returns.  The  sense  of  home  /'  9iMJ^ 
reaches  its  height  at  the  house,  but  is  plainly  aroused 
kas  soon  as  familiar  objects  begin  to  appear.  The 
pleasures  of  home,  the  sense  of  Material  security, 
comfort,  and  well-being,  extend  over  the  whole  region 
in  so  far  as  we  have  assimilated  it. 


188  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

This  instinct  evidently  includes  also  the  sense  of 
location,  and  of  roads,  ways,  etc.;  and  is  the  power 
or  orientation,  getting  one's  bearings,  and  the  like. 

It  makes  possible,  also,  such  other  Recognition 
acts  as  returning  to  food,  and  the  storing  up  of  honey, 
nuts,  and  other  booty.  In  these  cases  the  Material 
instinct  evidently  makes  a  sub-centre  of  the  desired 
prey  or  booty,  with  a  diminished  feeling  toward  den 
or  nest,  so  that  when  the  nest-hunger  is  satisfied  by 
the  storing  up  of  part  of  the  booty,  the  sense  of  loca- 
tion of  the  rest  of  the  booty  leads  back  to  the  place 
where  it  is.  This  act  is  evidently  one  requiring  a 
higher  flexibility  of  mind  than  the  mere  homing 
instinct,  and  it  is  not  found  in  all  animals  that  home. 

Other  acts  of  the  Recognition-Material  instinct, 
such  as  the  increase  of  efficiency  through  practice,  have 
no  special  points  of  interest  and  may  be  passed  by. 

THE   THOUGHT-MATERIAL    INSTINCT 

The  Thought-Material  instinct  is  the  Material 
instinct  with  the  memory  power  of  recollection,  /.  e.y 
of  recalling  in  the  mind  whole  facts  and  trains  of 
action. 

The  first  groups  of  memories  under  this  instinct 
are  no  doubt  those  gathered  in  the  many  experiences 
with  objects  interesting  to  the  mind  as  food,  clothes, 
tools,  house,  and  land. 

These  would  evidently  lead  to  definite  likes,  dis- 
likes, desires,  etc.,  with  regard  to  them.  Hence 
definite  appetites,  definite  ownership  in  clothes, 
tools,  land,  treasures,  etc.,  and  a  definite  love  of 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  189 

home  and  of  familiar  landscapes,  roads,  etc.  There 
would  arise  also  definite  fears  of  dangers  of  many 
sorts. 

Moreover,  there  would  be  definite  methods  of  be- 
havior relating  to  the  various  objects  of  Material 
interest.  Purposes,  intentions,  and  plans  would, 
with  experience,  become  more  and  more  elaborated 
and  reliable.  Prudence  and  self-control  in  Material 
matters  would  also  be  developed. 

Curiosity  would,  meanwhile,  be  continually  at 
work,  and  the  results  of  its  Material  investigations 
and  experiments  and  inventions  would  be  cumulative 
in  memory. 

Since,  however,  the  interests  of  the  instinct  include 
nearly  the  whole  practical  life  of  man,  the  result  of 
these  labors  would  evidently  be  the  coming  into 
existence  of  many  arts  and  handicrafts,  e.  g,,  those 
of  health  (medicine,  physiology,  hygiene);  those  of 
food  (herding,  hunting,  agriculture,  weather-prophecy, 
and,  in  Society,  trading);  those  of  the  house  (building, 
with  its  thousand  sub-divisions);  those  of  clothes 
(tanning,  weaving,  sewing,  spinning,  and  the  like); 
those  of  tools  (all  the  trades,  together  with  the  arts  of 
the  machinist  and  designer);  and  those  of  the  wider 
home  (the  thousand  means  of  travel  and  conveyance 
and  road-building;  the  study  of  geography,  the  stars, 
and  of  the  various  means  of  orientation).  In  a  word, 
practical  science  is  the  product  of  the  Thought- 
Material  instinct.  Much  even  of  our  more  abstract 
knowledge  began  thus  practically.  Arithmetic  and 
the  alphabet  are  the  inventions  of  traders,  and  geome- 


190  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

try  of  builders.  The  exceptions  are  the  Social 
sciences,  such  as  law  and  government.  In  these  the 
Material  instinct  can  have  no  direct  interest. 

As  such  accumulations  of  knowledge  are  reliable 
and  are  of  great  range,  so  the  Material  instinct  is 
most  commonly  back  of  what  is  ordinarily  thought  of 
when  we  speak  of  knowledge,  and  of  such  traits  as 
calculation,  care,  deliberation,  circumspection,  cau- 
tion, prudence,  providence,  precaution,  vigilance,  and 
the  like. 

The  Material  impulse  is  evidently  prominent  in 
the  business  world  of  human  society.  As  it  is 
satisfied  in  part  by  storing  up  what  it  desires,  it  may 
here  be  called  the  love  of  money,  gains,  profit,  riches, 
wealth,  or  treasures.  It  has  had  a  chief  hand  in  the 
invention  and  use  of  money,  in  buying  and  selling, 
bargaining,  and  trade  generally.  Its  simplest  acts 
are  then  characterized  by  economy,  frugality,  ab- 
stemiousness, sparingness,  thrift,  closeness,  stinginess, 
miserliness,  avarice,  sordidness,  parsimoniousness, 
and  the  like.  In  every-day  life,  men,  in  so  far  as  they 
possess  it,  may  also  be  called  canny,  hard-headed, 
crafty,  or  cunning.  Some  of  these  traits  happen  to 
be  thought  well  of,  others  ill.  The  Material  instinct 
is,  of  course,  absolutely  indifferent  to  Social  claims 
and  laws,  except  as  experience  may  show  them  to 
be  factors  in  its  success. 

The  pleasures  and  displeasures  of  the  Thought- 
Material  instinct  have  certain  names  beside  those 
mentioned  under  the  Practical  grade;  and  some  of 
them  had  best  be  noted  here.  The  pleasures  may 


THE  MATERIAL   INSTINCT  191 

thus  be  the  sense  of  gain,  affluence,  opulence,  and 
the  like.  The  pains  may  have  such  names  as  the 
sense  of  need,  necessity,  poverty,  adversity,  loss, 
destitution,  penury,  and  the  like.  We  may  also 
mention  homesickness,  or  nostalgia,  though  this  may 
exist  without  definite  recollection.  It  is  found,  e.  g., 
very  notably  in  the  domestic  cat. 

In  meeting  obstacles,  the  essential  inclination  of 
the  Thought-Material  instinct  is  to  accept  and  make 
the  best  of  the  situation.  It  is  persistent  and  patient. 
In  defeat  it  is  what  is  called  reasonable.  It  is  never 
to  be  described  as  rebellious.  It  does  not  cry  long 
over  spilt  milk,  nor  does  it  kick  the  stone  it  stumbled 
over:  for  it  says,  "How  can  that  help  the  matter?" 

We  come  now  to  the  consideration  of  the  Thought- 
Material  instinct  in  actions  that  are  more  nearly 
abstract. 

_Its_first  classifications  of  objects  are,  of  course,  into 
.food,  clothes,  tools,  home,  house,  property,  belong- 
ings, possessions,  hoards,  stores,  roads,  ways,  land- 
marks, and  the  like;  and  into  the  more  general 
classes  of  the  useful,  the  useless,  and  the  dangerous. 

It  likewise  causes  the  mass  of  memories  called  the 
Ego,  resulting,  through  experience,  in  a  clear  con- 
sciousness of  self,  with  conceptions  of  health,  sickness, 
and  the  like. 

Time,  space,  and  causation  are  also  relations  that 
gradually  emerge.  The  general  reliability  of  prac- 
tical phenomena  and  their  sequence,  results  in  the 
sense  of  physical  reliability,  and  in  such  abstractions 
as  Material  fact  and  truth. 


192  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Then  come  analysis,  comparison,  criticism,  and 
like  forms  of  mental  ingenuity,  resulting  at  last  in 
axioms,  principles,  general  laws,  systems,  methods, 
and  the  like,  in  objects  of  Material  interest. 

As,  however,  these  objects  are  practically  the  whole 
physical  universe,  so  the  result  of  such  investigations 
is  the  discovery  of  the  actual  order  that  is  in  the 
natural  world,  /.  <?.,  of  the  physical  sciences.  This 
development  has  been  a  slow  one,  but  it  now,  at  last, 
covers  most  of  the  world's  phenomena.  Physics  and 
chemistry,  together  with  the  special  sciences  of  as- 
tronomy, geology,  medicine,  biology,  meteorology, 
and  agriculture,  have  very  nearly  covered  the  field. 

In  addition  to  their  more  evident  practical  field, 
the  Extra  interests  of  the  instinct  also  work  toward 
an  increase  in  knowledge.  For  with  the  enormous 
increase  in  memory  and  mental  flexibility  comes  an 
enormous  increase  in  the  range  of  the  home  interest. 
All  phenomena  come  to  be  included  in  it,  and  the 
mind  cannot  rest  until  it  is  able  to  put  itself  in  some 
definite  relation  to  every  detail.  Any  mystery  thus 
comes  to  weigh  on  the  Material  impulse  as  though 
some  danger  were  hidden  in  it.  It  cannot  rest  until 
it  knows  all  about  the  heart  of  Africa;  it  must  know 
every  plant  and  animal  in  the  world;  it  must  invent 
ways  of  discovering  the  movements  and  materials  of 
the  most  remote  star;  it  can  have  no  peace  until  it 
knows  how  the  world  began  and  how  it  came  to  be 
what  it  is.  Even  the  abstractions  of  the  higher 
mathematics  and  logic  tempt  it  irresistibly — and  it 
may  be  sleepless  over  a  chess-problem.  It  must 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  193 

relate  everything  to  itself  in  some  clear  way.  .The 
Material  instinct  is  thus  in  a  very  special  sense  the 
love  of  truth  and  knowledge. 

On  the  other  hand,  any  thought  that  throws  it  into 
actual  confusion,  arouses  the  sense  of  repugnance  or 
fear.  In  Social  life  the  most  common  cases  of  this 
are  when  some  other  mind  moves  too  rapidly,  or 
makes  replies  that  are  quite  irrational  from  the 
Material  point  of  view  (as,  e.  g.,  in  wit).  The  Ma- 
terial mind  is  all  at  sea  in  such  cases,  and  shows 
signs  of  flight  or  consternation.  It  will  commonly 
attempt  to  get  its  bearings — e.  g.,  by  reasoning  over 
the  strange  remark  and  showing  its  untruthful  or 
insufficient  nature. 

Again,  there  is  a  plain  dislike  in  the  Material  mind 
toward  what  it  cannot  grasp.  This  dislike  often 
shows  itself  in  other  than  Material  acts  or  thoughts, 
as,  for  instance,  in  contempt  or  rage,  which  are 
Personal.  Most  mature  minds  refuse  to  entertain  or 
approach  such  matters.  This  phenomenon  is  a 
common  one.  Other  more  purely  Material  minds 
may  be  irresistibly  attracted  to  them — the  helpless 
condition  being  sometimes  one  of  awe  or  reverence, 
until  the  mind  succeeds  in  accustoming  itself  to  the 
thought,  or  in  escaping  somehow  from  it. 

Awe-inspiring  thoughts  are  of  two  general  kinds— 
(i)  those  phenomena  to  which  the  mind  has  no  clue 
in  experience,  but  which  greatly  affect  life;  and  (2) 
those  which  the  mind  is  not  able  to  grasp.  The 
first  class  may  diminish  with  experience;  the  second 
with  increased  power  in  the  mind. 


194  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Of  the  first  we  may  mention  the  many  natural 
events  that  frighten  the  ignorant  and  the  savage. 
The  ancients  (like  some  moderns)  were  awe-inspired 
by  diseases,  plagues,  insanity,  birth,  death,  eclipses, 
comets,  floods,  fires,  volcanic  eruptions,  earthquakes, 
etc.  Of  these  death  is  now  the  most  disagreeably 
puzzling  and  fearful.  Our  thought  of  it  deserves  a 
V  word. 

The  Material  instinct,  as  it  is  satisfied  (with  conse- 
quent pleasure)  by  robust  health  and  strength,  may 
be  called  the  love  of  life.  It  may  also  show  itself  as 
a  fear  of  pain.  There  is  no  such  elemental  feeling, 
however,  as  a  fear  of  death.  This  feeling  is  acquired 
partly  through  the  puzzling  nature  of  death  and  our 
helplessness  to  combat  it — the  mind  being  entirely 
baffled  by  it  and  yet  forced  to  face  it;  and  partly 
through  the  sympathetic  (Social)  fear  inspired  in 
many  cases  by  the  pain  of  those  who  approach  it. 
Other  influences  doubtless  enter  in — the  appearance 
and  history  of  the  dead  body,  with  its  stiffness,  help- 
lessness, and  decay;  the  immense  losses  occasioned 
by  it;  etc.  But  the  essence  of  the  fear  and  dislike  is 
doubtless  the  inability  of  the  mind  to  get  hold  of  it. 
What  it  is,  we  have  no  clue  to,  unless  it  be  in  the 
experience  of  falling  asleep. 

Of  the  second  class  of  phenomena — those  beyond 
our  grasp — we  may  mention  such  sensations  as  those 
produced  by  large  mountains,  great  heights  and 
distances,  great  lengths  of  time,  and  the  various 
infinities  made  by  constant  addition.  These  cause 
feelings  that  verge  on,  or  may  actually  be,  fear. 


THE  MATERIAL   INSTINCT  195 

If  the  mind  has  some  pleasure  in  them,  they  may  be 
called  sublime.  The  unimaginative  mind  does  not 
feel  them  at  all,  but  the  feeling  is  sure  to  arise  when- 
ever the  attempt  is  made  to  realize  such  large  or 
infinite  extensions.  The  mind  begins  the  measure- 
ment, using  its  accustomed,  thoroughly  grasped 
units — and,  more  or  less  suddenly,  finds  itself  unable 
to  grasp  the  object  to  be  measured.  The  result  may 
be  fear  or  a  sense  of  oppression.  If,  by  a  tremendous 
effort,  one  can  grasp  the  immense  thought — why,  the 
pleasure  is  great  in  proportion  to  the  effort. 

It  is  thus  possible  to  escape  from  the  sense  of  fear 
in  large  objects;  and  there  is  little  doubt  that  every 
mature  person  has  outgrown  some  of  the  sublimities 
of  his  youth.  In  the  cases  of  infinite  time  and  space, 
however,  the  sense  of  oppression  cannot  be  thrown 
off  by  any  power  of  grasp. 

We  may,  finally,  say  a  word  concerning  the  nature 
of  the  Material  instinct  as  it  appears  in  Society.  It 
has,  as  we  have  noted,  no  interest  in  other  beings  like 
itself,  as  such.  It  is  therefore  not  to  be  distracted 
from  its  ends  by  any  influence  from  them.  Its 
notable  traits  are  thus  mental  honesty,  consistency, 
and  thoroughness^ Tt  is  essentially  orderly,  earnest, 
genuine,  serious,  sincere,  natural,  simple,  grave, 
straightforward,  open,  and  direct.  If  it  is  eve; 
cautious  or  cunning  (and  it  may  be  so,  since  it  has  rto 
Personal  or  Social  restraints,  but  may  adopt  anV 
information  it  has  of  them),  these  are  compound 
states  of  mind,  deliberately  invented  for  certain 
purposes. 


196  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

On  the  other  hand,  this  instinct  may  be  said  to  be 
the  essence  of  such  qualities  of  mind  as  selfishness, 
egotism,  self-love,  self-seeking,  self-satisfaction,  self- 
confidence.  From  an  economic  point  of  view  it  is 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation.  Some  of  these  last 
words  are  used  in  another  sense,  /.  e.y  as  implying  and 
including  vanity.  They  may  exist,  however,  and 
often  do  exist,  without  a  thought  of  self  as  opposed 
to  others.  They  are  the  natural  forms  of  the  Material 
instinct,  whose  impulses  are  satisfied  by  the  gain  of 
the  individual,  and  they  act  without  reference  to  or 
thought  of  any  other  individual,  whether  better  or 
worse.  In  so  far  as  they  are  Material,  there  can  be 
no  trace  of  vanity  or  glorying  in  them.  They  may 
well  be  used  with  the  word  "higher,"  e.  g.y  the  higher 
selfishness,  the  higher  egotism,  etc.,  as  opposed  to 
those  in  which  vanity  is  the  leading  element.  These 
traits  are  part  of  the  make-up  of  every  strong 
and  efficient  man — and  evidently  must  be  and 
should  be. 

Of  the  pleasures  of  the  Thought-Material  instinct 
we  may  here  mention,  in  addition  to  those  already 
noted — freshness,  gladness,  cheerfulness,  sanguine- 
ness,  and  blithesomeness.  These  are  to  the  mind 
what  the  feeling  of  good  health  is  to  the  body.  Of 
overflow  actions  of  pleasure — vivacity,  exuberance, 
exhilaration,  and  briskness  in  thought — which  may 
be  compared  to  animal  spirits. 

Of  the  pains  we  may  notice — discouragement, 
moodiness,  melancholy,  and  the  like,  with  such  acts 
as  are  connected  with  fretfulness,  and  feverishness  of 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  197 

thought,  and  running  off  in  the  directions  of  insanity, 
obsession,  and  the  like. 


THE    IDEAL-MATERIAL   INSTINCT 

The  Ideal-Material  instinct  is  the  Material  instinct 
seeking  its  complete  satisfaction  in  thought.  This* 
can  be  attempted  either  in  the  world  as  it  is;  or  by 
imagining  it  as  improved;  or  by  believing  in  a  dif- 
ferent world. 

The  attempt  to  satisfy  the  Material  instinct  in  the 
actual  world  has  been  the  labor  of  philosophy  and  is 
the  end  of  science.  It  would  occur  if  the  mind  itself 
and  the  external  world  (as  a  home)  were  thoroughly 
understood,  /'.  e.y  made  orderly  in  thought,  and  freed 
from  what  cannot  be  grasped  or  thought  of  with 
satisfaction.  Evidently  the  great  problems  have  been 
(i)  the  discovery  of  order  in  the  world,  and  (2)  the 
finding  of  a  true  point  of  view  from  which  we  may  be 
satisfied  with  the  various  thoughts  of  pain  and  death, 
and  of  the  infinities  of  time  and  space. 

It  is  to  the  first  of  these  questions  that  science  has 
so  far  addressed  itself,  meanwhile,  however  limiting 
the  number  of  cases  under  the  second,  though  without 
any  present  thought  of  getting  rid  of  them  all.  This 
it  has  accomplished  by  a  most  careful  and  elaborate 
study  of  facts.  Philosophy,  on  the  other  hand,  has 
set  out  with  the  premise  that  the  facts  must  be  satis- 
factory, and  has  endeavored  to  discover  merely  an 
interpretation  of  whatever  facts  it  cared  to  observe. 
It  is  needless  to  remind  the  reader  of  the  curious 
results  of  this  method. 


198  A  THEORY   OF  MIND 

As  to  the  second  question,  the  methods  of  philoso- 
phy and  of  vulgar  belief  have  both  been  the  opposite 
of  the  scientific.  They  have  consisted,  in  a  word,  in 
denying  the  necessity  or  actuality  of  what  was  disa- 
greeable and  baffling. 

Hence  the  belief  in  panaceas,  to  cure  all  sicknesses; 
in  the  philosopher's  stone,  so  that  none  need  be  poor; 
in  Edens  and  Golden  Ages  where  no  one  was  sick  or 
suffering  or  had  to  fight  or  till  the  earth.  Hence, 
again,  the  refusal  to  class  death  among  the  inevitable 
things,  and  the  yearning  stories  (in  all  semi-civilized 
countries)  of  men  who  have  not  died — of  Enochs, 
King  Arthurs,  and  Wandering  Jews;  or  of  Edens, 
again,  where  there  was  no  death;  or  the  belief  in 
elixirs  of  life  and  fountains  of  youth,  to  keep  off  even 
old  age. 

Or,  on  the  other  side,  the  mind  has  classified  death 
among  the  illusions.  Death  is,  thus,  only  a  sleep, 
which  it  resembles.  Men  wake  again  in  some  land 
in  the  far  West.  Ulysses  sailed  out  and  found  his 
dead  friends  there.  Or  else  they  live  down  under  the 
earth  somewhere.  It  is  true  that  their  bodies  remain 
and  decay,  but  their  shades  (bodily  things  that  have 
often  been  seen),  these  wake  and  go.  Or  else  there 
is  to  be  a  time  when  the  bodies  themselves  (now 
sleeping)  shall  rise  again.  The  graves  shall  be 
opened  then  and  the  sea  shall  give  up  her  dead. 

The  mystery  of  birth  has  been  treated  as  an 
illusion  also.  ,  Souls  existed  before  birth.^  They  may 
have  been  born  in  this  or  other  worlds  many  times. 
They  may  have  been  in  animals  formerly;  and  the 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  199 

soul,  now  in  any  animal,  may  formerly  have  been  the 
soul  of  a  man. 

As  for  time  and  space,  Kant,  as  we  know,  de- 
nied their  existence,  to  the  relief  of  many  excellent 
minds. 

All  such  beliefs  are  able  to  exist  and  be  perpetuated 
(and  they  are  ineradicable)  without  an  atom  of 
scientific  evidence  or  probability,  and  merely  through 
the  favor  of  the  Material  instinct  to  which  they  give 
satisfaction. 

Many  philosophic  systems,  however,  are  not  theo- 
retical but  practical,  i.e.,  they  attempt  to  show  how 
to  make  the  most  of  life  and  gain  the  greatest  satis- 
faction with  the  least  pain.  These  are  certain  of  the 
isms,  e.  g.,  Stoicism,  Epicureanism,  Optimism,  Pes- 
simism, Fatalism,  and  so  on  to  Vegetarianism. 
These  make  the  worth  of  life  depend  upon  the  man- 
ner of  meeting  it  in  thought  or  habits. 

We  now  turn  to  the  dreams  of  our  own  world  in  a 
better  condition. 

We  may  mention  here  that  realized  dream  of  many 
minds,  the  modern  comforts  of  civilization. 

More  important,  however,  because  free  from 
practical  ideas,  are  the  lovely  dreams  of  the  artists, 
shaping  the  world  to  their  hearts'  desires,  putting 
'.  into  music,  painting,  or  words  the  light  that  never 
was  on  sea  or  land.  These,  so  far  as  they  are  repre- 
sentations of  nature,  more  characteristic  than  nature 
herself,  and  giving  us  an  idea  of  her  homelikeness 
and  quietness  and  security  and  fulness  of  life  be- 
yond what  facts  can  give,  are  to  be  ascribed  to  the 


200  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Ideal-Material  instinct,  which,  as  it  is  the  love  of 
home,  so  is  also  the  love  of  nature. 

Finally,  we  have  to  consider  the  satisfaction  of  the 
Material  instinct  through  religion,  /.  <?.,  the  belief  in  a 
different  world  from  the  scientific  one.  We  shall 
discuss  Christianity  only. 

In  the  first  place,  it  satisfies  the  Material  desire 
for  causation  by  supposing  the  world  to  have  been 
created  by  a  God,  to  satisfy  some  desire  of  his.  This 
belief  is  not  Material  except  in  so  far  as  it  makes 
God  a  cause.  Some  of  his  endowments,  however,  are 
Material.  The  perfections  or  lack  of  hinderances  that 
man  desires  are  imputed  to  him,  e.  g.y  omniscience, 
omnipotence,  omnipresence,  infinity,  immutability, 
immortality  (or  rather  sempiternity).  He  is  not  sub- 
ject to  the  laws  of  nature,  but  is  supernatural.  The 
supposed  unity  of  nature  is  due  to  him.  It  contains 
an  orderly  purpose  of  his.  We  do  not,  therefore, 
have  to  fathom  nature  in  detail.  We  trust,  and  feel 
at  home  in  it. 

The  difficulties  of  infinite  space  and  time  have  the 
edge  taken  from  them  by  the  equal  infinity  in  space 
and  time,  of  God.  The  problem  of  death  is  met  by 
the  faith  in  the  resurrection  of  the  body.  That  of 
birth  is  not  specifically  met. 

The  problem  of  sufferings,  disappointments,  etc., 
is  met  by  the  conception  of  the  other  world  into  which 
man  shall  be  ushered  hereafter,  i.  e.,  at  the  resurrec- 
tion. It  is  to  have  none  of  the  drawbacks  of  the 
present  world.  "They  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither 
thirst  any  more,  neither  shall  the  sun  light  on  them, 


THE  MATERIAL  INSTINCT  201 

nor  any  heat.  .  .  .  And  there  shall  be  no  more  death, 
etc."  It  is  to  be  our  home. 

This  present  life  is  admitted  to  be  bad;  but  it  is 
balanced  off  by  the  other  life  in  some  definite  way, 
e.  g.,  the  more  suffering  in  this  world,  the  more  joy 
in  that.  Besides,  the  mystery  of  suffering  and  pain 
has  a  solution  which  we  shall  know;  and  not  only 
that  mystery,  but  all  knowledge  will  be  open  to  us 
there. 

Itwill  be  noticed  that  in  the  Christian  system  all  the 
simple  impulses  of  the  Material  instinct  are  met  and 
satisfied  (though  not  always  clearly)  in  thought.  Its 
appeal  to  that  side  of  our  nature  is  almost  complete, 
and  men's  belief  in  this  part  of  the  Christian  religious 
system  rests  undoubtedly  in  part  upon  that  fact. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT 

THE  Personal  instinct  is  the  impulse  and  influence 
and  power  of  a  mind  as  related  to  one  other  mind  of 
the  same  species  as  itself.  It  would  be  satisfied  by 
a  union  with  the  other,  part  for  part,  the  individuality 
of  each  unit  being  lost  in  the  union.  From  the  nature 
of  such  a  union,  it  is  clear  that  the  Personal  impulse 
can  be  made  definite  only  by  an  influence  that  affects 
ultimately  every  part  of  the  organism,  each  part  being 
influenced  to  leave  the  unit  in  which  it  is,  and  to  seek 
out  and  unite  with  a  corresponding  part  in  some 
other  unit.  It  stands  in  an  essential  hostility  to 
the  Material  impulse,  for  the  Material  impulse 
creates  and  perfects  the  organism,  while  the  Personal 
tends  to  destroy  the  organism. 

THE    CELL-PERSONAL    INSTINCT 

The  Cell-Personal  instinct  is  the  Personal  instinct 
as  found  in  the  single  cell.  Each  cell  of  the  human 
body  thus  feels  the  Personal  impulse.  The  body, 
however,  has  become  so  specialized  that  in  most 
cells  the  impulse  is  comparatively  weak,  with  the 

202 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  203 

result  that  the  Material  body-fusion  is  not  destroyed, 
and  the  Personal  satisfaction  of  the  cells  remains  for- 
ever unsatisfied.  In  certain  cells,  however,  the 
Personal  impulse  at  maturity  is  stronger  than  the 
Material.  These  accordingly  are  not  held  or  con- 
trolled by  the  body-fusion,  but  after  multiplying  and 
developing  become  independent  of  the  Material  body, 
and  finally  are  expelled  from  it  and  go  off  in  search  of 
their  Personal  mates.  When  such  mates  find  each 
other,  they  unite  part  for  part — /.  <?.,  the  nucleus  of 
the  one  with  the  nucleus  of  the  other  and  the  cell-body 
of  the  one  with  the  cell-body  of  the  other — the  result 
being  thus  a  single  large  cell  with  one  nucleus  and  one 
cell-body.  Cells  thus  leaving  the  body  may  be  called 
sex  cells.  More  specifically  they  are  the  spermatozoa 
and  the  ova. 

Of  what  occurs  psychologically  in  these  cases,  the 
human  mind  can  of  course  know  nothing  directly, 
since  the  uniting  cells  have  ceased  to  be  part  of  it. 
It  seems  clear,  however,  that  the  wandering  of  the 
cells  is  caused  by  the  unsatisfied  Personal  impulse; 
that  the  impulse  is  made  definite  on  the  near  approach 
of  the  mates;  that  the  Personal  impulse  then  quite 
overpowers  the  Material  in  the  cells,  so  that  both  cells 
break  up,  each  molecule  seeking  the  corresponding 
molecule  in  the  mate;  and  that,  finally,  a  new  Mate- 
rial instinct  arises  and  shapes  the  molecules  into 
a  new  cell  in  which  the  Personal  impulse  is  far 
more  nearly  satisfied,  and,  therefore,  weak.  Such 
cells  might  be — and  are — strongly  Material  and 
Social. 


204  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

THE    BODY-PERSONAL    INSTINCT 

The  Body-Personal  instinct  is  the  Personal  instinct 
as  it  is  influential  in  the  body  unit.  It  must  here  be 
considered  apart  from  the  relations  of  the  body  with 
the  external  world. 

We  have  spoken  elsewhere  of  the  priority  of  the 
Material  instinct.  It  alone  creates  the  body.  It  is, 
however,  subject  to  the  influences  of  the  other  in- 
stincts, and  the  cases  in  which  some  bodily  detail  is 
a  compromise  between  the  Material  and  one  of  the 
other  instincts  are  not  rare.  Before  attempting  to 
distinguish  those  in  which  the  Personal  instinct  has 
been  influential,  it  may  be  well  to  say  a  preliminary 
word  of  the  nature  and  sphere  of  this  instinct. 

The  Personal  instinct  would  be  satisfied  if  the  body 
united,  cell  by  cell,  with  some  other  suitable  similar 
body.  This  act,  however,  does  not  occur,  nor  does 
anything  much  like  it  occur.  The  tendency  merely 
is  present.  Thus  the  Personal  instinct  is,  in  the  end, 
fruitless.  It  is  a  tremendous  influence,  for  it  is 
very  strong;  but  the  Material  instinct,  being  stronger, 
thwarts  its  fruition.  Moreover,  it  should  be  noted 
that  while  the  Personal  impulses  (since  they  tend  to  a 
disruption  of  the  body-unit)  stand  in  opposition  to 
the  Material,  the  Social,  on  the  other  hand,  stand  in 
no  opposition,  but  are  a  repetition  of  the  Material. 
The  result  of  this,  as  we  shall  see,  is  that  the  Material 
and  Social  instincts  are  responsible  for  everything 
that  is  constructive  in  life;  while  the  Personal  has 
nothing  at  all  of  the  sort  to  its  credit,  but  remains  a 


THE   PERSONAL  INSTINCT  205 

mere  influence,  always  unsatisfied,  and  always  work- 
ing more  or  less  at  cross-purposes  with  the  Material 
and  Social  progress  of  the  world,  which  on  its  side 
is  eternally  compromising  and  being  influenced 
along  Personal  lines.  It  was  therefore  a  question 
whether  it  would  not  have  been  best  to  consider  the 
Social  instinct  in  advance  of  the  Personal,  and  so  to 
have  mapped  out  the  constructive  facts  before  treat- 
ing of  any  merely  influential  forces;  and,  having 
finally  decided  upon  the  opposite  course,  we  shall 
have  to  ask  the  reader  to  accept  in  advance  certain 
conclusions,  the  evidence  for  which  will  not  appear  in 
full  until  later.  We  shall  have  to  ask  him,  namely, 
to  accept,  provisionally,  the  statement  that  reproduc- 
tion, with  which  the  Personal  instinct  is  so  intimately 
associated,  is  in  all  its  essential  details  Social.  The 
production  of  ova  and  spermatozoa,  together  with 
all  the  organs  of  copulation,  gestation,  etc.,  are 
Social  and  not  Personal  phenomena:  here,  as  else- 
where, the  Personal  instinct  is  an  influence;  it  is  not 
a  creator.  With  this  clearly  remembered,  however, 
the  nature  of  the  Personal  instinct  should  take  definite 
shape  as  we  proceed. 

In  general,  it  may  be  said  that  the  Body-Personal 
results  in  compromise  growths  or  forms  that  are  of 
no  Material  or  Social  use  to  the  organism.  The 
discovery  of  such  growths  and  forms  is  not  difficult; 
the  complete  enumeration  of  them,  however,  is 
probably  impossible.  If,  for  instance,  we  compare 
young  animals  with  mature  ones,  it  is  still  to  be  re- 
membered that  although  the  Personal  impulse  is 


206  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

weaker  in  the  young,  it  is  still  not  entirely  absent; 
and  that  maturity  is  not  to  be  thought  of  as  being 
merely  Personal,  but  quite  as  much  as  being  also 
Material  and  Social.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
compare  males  with  females,  it  is  still  true  that  the 
differences  between  them  are  quite  as  often  Social 
as  Personal;  and,  moreover,  that  the  Personal  im- 
pulse exists  in  both.  If,  again,  we  compare  the  nor- 
mal animal  with  the  gelded  or  splayed  one,  the  result 
is  still  not  perfect,  since  the  Personal  instinct  exists 
in  all  the  cells  of  the  body  and  not  merely  in  the  sex- 
glands.  The  test  of  Material  and  Social  usefulness 
is  also  only  partially  fruitful,  since  the  Personal 
influence  is  certainly  very  often  effective  without 
apparent  harm  to  the  efficiency  of  these  instincts. 

The  profound  nature  of  the  Personal  influence  is 
perhaps  best  made  evident  by  comparing  young  or 
gelded  or  splayed  animals  with  normal  mature  ones. 
The  plain  differences  here  observed  in  size,  form, 
voice,  and  taste  of  flesh,  are  certainly  in  large  part 
Personal  and  indicate  that  the  instinct  is  influential 
in  every  detail  of  organic  growth.  The  difference  in 
taste  of  flesh  seems  a  peculiarly  striking  proof  of  this. 

Nevertheless,  although  the  Body-Personal  impulse 
is  pretty  certainly  influential  in  every  detail,  it  is 
distinctly  weaker  within  the  body  than  the  Material 
and  Social  forces,  and  its  tendencies  are  in  almost 
every  part  so  nearly  overruled  that  it  may  be  said  to 
have  affected  little  else  than  the  size,  shape,  and  taste 
of  the  part.  Indeed,  the  only  bodily  details  I  have 
been  able  to  discover  which  seem  to  be  due  to  a  pre- 


THE  PERSONAL   INSTINCT  207 

ponderance  of  this  impulse  are  the  glands  that  secrete 
semen  or  other  odoriferous  fluids.  These  seem 
clearly  Personal,  and  are  not  only  regularly  situated 
close  to  the  sex-glands  (the  most  strongly  Personal 
parts  of  the  body,  although  even  in  them  the  Social 
element  is  strongest),  but  they  are  regularly  active 
when  the  Personal  impulse  is  aroused,  either  mo- 
mentarily or,  more  continuously,  during  the  rutting 
season. 

A  similarly  characteristic  influence  is  found  in 
plants.  The  flower — a  peculiar  growth  formed  by  a 
shortening  of  the  plant's  stem  and  a  changing  of  the 
shapes  of  the  leaves  until  they  are  hardly  recognizable 
as  leaves — is  in  its  essential  details  of  Social  origin. 
The  reproductive  parts,  /.  <?.,  the  pistil  and  stamen, 
are  here  as  elsewhere  Social.  Nevertheless,  here  as 
elsewhere,  these  parts  are  strongly  Personal,  and  the 
adjacent  parts  often  show  leaf  changes  extraordinary 
in  respect  of  size,  shape,  and  coloring;  and  there  are 
very  commonly,  with  them,  flower-glands  that  pro- 
duce nectar  and  perfume.  Fruits,  moreover,  are 
often  bright-colored  or  fragrant  or  sweet.  The 
Personal  instinct  tends  somehow  in  the  direction  of 
special  colors,  shapes,  tastes,  and  perfumes;  and  it  is 
curious  to  note  how  these  are  often  attractive  in  what 
may  be  called  an  abstract  or  general  sense,  /'.  e.,  they 
seem  so  to  all  life.1  (Among  animals  the  skunk  is  a 
striking  exception.) 


1  Of  course,  the  economic  value  of  color,  size,  nectar,  and  perfume 
in  flowers  and  fruits  is  a  question  of  quite  a  different  nature  from 
that  under  consideration.  The  birds  and  insects  seem  plainly  re- 


208  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

THE    EXTRA-PERSONAL   INSTINCT 

The  Extra-Personal  instinct  is  the  Body-Personal 
as  influencing  the  Extra  body.  Among  the  animals 
this  influence  is  very  striking  and  results  in  curious 
growths  and  colorations  of  unnumbered  sorts — all 
useless  Materially  and  Socially.  In  man  we  may 
notice  the  bony  protuberances  over  the  eyes  and  at 
the  back  of  the  skull  (in  males)  and  the  beard.  In 
other  animals,  there  may  be  horns,  manes,  beards, 
dewlaps,  gorgeous  or  large  feathers,  crests,  wattles, 
spurs,  colored  skins,  brilliant  scales,  or  such  curious 
growths  as  are  found  in  insects  and  notably  in  beetles. 
Many  of  these  are  found  only  in  males  (in  whom  the 
Personal  instinct  is  usually  stronger),  but  if  the 
females  (as  in  certain  birds,  e.  g.t  the  phalaropes) 
have  an  equally  strong  or  a  stronger  Personal  instinct, 
they  may  appear  only  in  them.  Not  infrequently, 
however,  they  are  found  in  both  sexes.  The  connec- 
tion of  them  with  the  Personal  instinct  is  seen  plainly 
in  those  animals  in  whom  sex  is  strong  during  only 
part  of  the  year  and  who  change  their  Extra  parts 
accordingly.  Many  animals  and  birds  have  special 
garbs  during  the  mating  season,  and  these  are  always 
more  brilliant  than  those  worn  during  the  rest  of  the 
year.  Moreover,  there  is  often  a  striking  difference 
between  the  garbs  of  the  males,  and  those  of  the 
comparatively  sexless  females  or  young. 

sponsible  for  the  survival  of  many  of  our  flowers  and  fruits,  and  they 
have  selected  according  to  developments  in  color,  taste,  etc.  We 
are  considering,  however,  the  origin  of  these  things — a  problem  quite 
different  from  the  economic  one. 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  209 

Not  all  Extra-Personal  parts  are  formed  and  cast 
away  with  the  rutting  season.  The  bull,  for  instance, 
keeps  his  horns.  But  in  cases  like  that  of  the  moose, 
with  his  enormous  horns  to  be  remade  each  year,  the 
cost  to  the  organism  must  be  very  great,  and  it  is 
said  that  some  animals  die  of  the  strain. 

Of  the  cases  of  the  influence  of  the  Personal  instinct 
on  the  home,  not  many  have  come  to  my  notice. 
The  bower  of  the  bower-bird  is  most  noticeable,  but 
many  birds  have  peculiarities  in  nest-building.  The 
use  of  bright  strings  and  bits  of  paper,  of  cast  snake- 
skins  (by  the  great  crested  fly-catcher),  of  green  twigs 
and  leaves  (by  some  hawks),  and  of  lichens  (by  a 
number  of  birds)  may  be  of  Personal  origin.  Such 
cases  we  should  call,  as  in  the  similar  Material  ones, 
repetitions  of  the  cases  in  the  feathers,  etc.,  of  these 
birds. 

In  man,  the  repetitions  are  numerous.  The  paint- 
ing and  tattooing  of  the  skin,  and  the  wearing  of 
feathers,  beads,  and  other  brilliantly  colored  or  curi- 
ously shaped  clothes  are  Extra-Personal.  These  often 
entail  serious  Material  pain  or  inconvenience,  as,  for 
instance,  in  the  tattooing  mentioned,  in  piercing  the 
ears,  lips,  or  nose,  jn_wearing  corsets,  high-heeled  or 
small  shoes,  and  the  like.  Again,  there  are  the 
adorning  of  tools — of  arrows,  bows,  pipes,  etc.;  the 
decoration  of  houses,  with  all  the  beauty  and  gaudi- 
ness  of  architecture;  and  the  adorning  of  gardens 
with  flowers,  lawns,  ornamental  walks,  bowers,  trees, 
and,  it  may  be,  statuary.  All  these  are  Personal 
repetitions — or  may  be,  for  they  are  often  Personally 


210  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

characterless,  and  the  product  of  mere  Social  imita- 
tion.1 All  are  Materially  useless  and  costly,  but  give 
keen  pleasure,  often  (as  in  the  cases  of  gems  and 
gold  and  laces)  in  direct  proportion  to  the  Material 
sacrifices  they  demand. 

We  notice  here,  also,  in  man,  the  ornamentation, 
perfuming,  and  care  of  hair  and  dress,  that  occur 
during  the  time  of  courtship  and  not  otherwise.  This 
is  a  precise  repetition  of  the  special  garbs  of  some  of 

e  l<-»wer  animals. 

THE    PRACTICAL-PERSONAL   INSTINCT 

The  Practical-Personal  instinct  is  the  Body- 
Personal  instinct  in  its  relations  to  external  objects. 
The  external  object  of  the  Personal  instinct  is  some 
other  organism  like  its  own.  Its  satisfaction  would 
be  a  union  with  the  other  organism,  part  for  part,  to 
the  loss  of  both  individualities.  Such  unions  do  not 
take  place  in  organisms  of  more  than  one  cell.  The 
Personal  instinct  is  thus  never  completely  satisfied 
in  the  multicellular  organisms.  Partial  satisfaction, 
however,  is  possible,  and  the  instinct  is  plainly  pres- 
ent, and  shows  itself  in  actions  tending  to  this. 

It  may  be  well  to  mark  out  more  definitely  the  field 
of  this  instinct. 

In  the  first  place,  the  Practical-Personal  instinct 
is  an  impulse  in  one  multicellular  organism  toward 
or  from  another  organism  of  the  same  degree  of 


1  Traces  of  this  impulse  may  be  found  in  animals,  as  when  the  dog 
or  cat  likes  a  collar  or  bright  ribbon,  or  when  a  horse  likes  a  new  or 
bright  harness. 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  211 

complexity.  It  thus  decides  some  of  the  relation- 
ships of  animals  to  each  other,  and  is  sharply  differ- 
entiated from  the  Material  instinct,  which  is  an  im- 
pulse in  one  grade  toward  or  away  from  units  of  a 
lower  grade.  Thus,  from  the  Material  point  of  view, 
a  man  regards  his  fellow-men  as  prey,  or  as  a  part  of 
the  environment;  from  the  Personal  point  of  view, 
on  the  other  hand,  they  are  liked  or  disliked  as 
persons. 

Secondly,  the  Practical-Personal  instinct  is  marked 
by  its  absolutely  narrow  range.  It  exists  between 
two  individuals  and  no  more.  The  man  who  desires 
from  this  instinct  desires  one  man  or  woman  for  his 
or  her  self.  No  one  else  and  no  thing  else  is  in  any 
way  concerned.  This  does  not  mean  that  the  impulse 
is  not  felt  toward,  and  the  influence  from,  all  men  and 
women;  it  is  felt  with  regard  to  all,  but  they  are  and 
must  be  taken  one  at  a  time.  It  is  thus  sharply 
differentiated  from  the  Social  instinct,  which  regards 
groups,  and  makes  no  personal  distinctions. 

Thirdly,  if  the  Practical-Personal  instinct  could 
be  satisfied,  the  result  would  be  a  union  of  two 
individuals  into  a  single  individual  of  twice  the  nor- 
mal size  but  otherwise  like  the  original  individuals. 
The  Social  instinct,  on  the  other  hand,  tends  toward 
a  unit  of  a  higher  grade — one,  namely,  in  which  the 
uniting  individuals  should  preserve  their  individuality 
and  be  the  component  parts  of  the  new  and  larger 
unit.  The  Social  instinct  is  thus  a  tendency  to  com- 
monness and  unitedness  of  impulses  and  actions. 
Its  characteristic  psychological  phenomena  are  co- 


212  A  THEORY   OF  MIND 

operation  and  sympathy.  It  should  be  kept  quite 
clear  that  the  Personal  instinct  is  an  impulse  to  a 
direct  and  complete  union;  that  it  is  not  sympathy 
and  that  it  knows  nothing  of  sympathy.  It  has  no 
care  whatever  about  its  object's  condition  or  frame 
of  mind.  Thus,  when  a  lover  sympathizes  with  his 
Xlady,  he  is  exhibiting,  for  the  moment,  not  love  but 
^  self-restraint  and  goodness.  The  unadulterated  Per- 
sonal instinct  considers  absolutely  nothing  but  its 
own  gratification,  and  that  gratification  in  no  way 
implies  a  sympathy  with  others.  This  point  must 
be  made  with  some  emphasis,  because  the  element 
of  sympathy  enters  into  almost  all  actual  human  re- 
lations and  therefore  into  the  thought  we  have  when 
these  relations  are  named.  When,  therefore,  we 
shall  call  the  Personal  impulse  the  impulse  of  friend- 
liness, the  reader  must  be  on  his  guard  against  the 
implication  of  sympathy  in  that  word.  In  so  far  as 
friendship  is  sympathy,  it  is  Social;  in  so  far  as  it  is 
affection  between  two  distinct  individuals,  it  is 
Personal.  If  this  distinction  is  not  clearly  made  out 
and  kept  in  mind,  serious  confusion  is  sure  to  follow. 
Attention  will  not  be  called  to  it,  however,  at  every 
point;  the  reader  must  himself  make  the  necessary 
reservations. 

The  Personal  instinct  in  its  positive  forms  may 
have  the  names  attachment,  affection,  fondness, 
friendliness,  amicableness,  amorousness,  concupis- 
cence, love,  lust,  and  the  like. 

Its  negative  forms  may  be  antipathy,  repugnance, 
dislike,  detestation,  hate,  enmity,  and  the  like. 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  213 

In  its  broadest  sense  the  Personal  instinct  is  often 
called  sex,  though  this  word  includes  both  more  and 
less  than  what  we  mean  by  Personality.  It  is  also 
the  gift  or  talent  for  friendship.  And  as  the  Material 
instinct  is  roughly  and  inaccurately  what  in  common 
parlance  is  called  the  mind,  so  the  Personal  is  in 
common  parlance  the  heart,  or  the  human  side  of 
character. 

Men  possessing  it  to  a  large  extent  are  called  mas- 
culine, manly,  virile,  and  the  like;  to  a  less  extent, 
cold,  emasculate,  effeminate,  and  the  liket  Women, 
from  this  point  of  view,  may  be  womanly,  feminine, 
maidenly,  etc.;  or  they  may  be  cold,  masculine,  etc. 
(These  words,  however,  commonly  imply  repro- 
ductive capacities,  and  in  so  far  are  Social.)  Such 
adjectives  also  as  susceptible,  warm,  voluptuous,  and 
the  like  are  used  of  it. 

The  Personal  impulse  has  as  its  locus  all  the  cells 
of  the  body.  It  is  aroused  to  interest  and  curiosity, 
and  is  finally  made  definite,  by  influences  received 
from  another  individual.  These  influences  may  be 
through  light,  heat,  sound,  pressure,  or  odor,  and  are 
received  through  the  ordinary  senses,  to  be  fused 
later  into  percepts. 

Bright  colors  and  strange  shapes  may  also  arouse 
its  attention  and  curiosity,  even  though  the  influential 
object  is  inanimate — as  when  a  butterfly  is  attracted 
by  a  bright-colored  paper  or  rag. 

The  influential  qualities  in  the  object  of  desire  or 
dislike  are  regularly  those  caused  or  influenced  by  the 
Personal  instinct.  Thus  horns,  manes,  beards,  high- 


214  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ly  colored  skin,  hair,  feathers,  and  the  like,  are  all 
Personally  influential.  So  are  all  Personal  acts,  /.  e.y 
actions  affected  or  caused  by  the  Personal  instinct. 
This  is  according  to  our  axiom  that  the  influence  of 
an  impulse  is  such  as  to  make  definite  the  correspond- 
ing impulse  in  a  suitable  other  unit.  It  is  to  be 
noted,  here  as  elsewhere,  that  this  axiom  works 
directly  and  immediately,  and  not  through  reasoning 
or  definite  desire.  Personal  characteristics  arouse 
liking  and  dislike  whether  their  possessor  wills  it  or 
not,  and  whether  the  influenced  individual  reasons  or 
not. 

All  the  higher  species  of  multicellular  animals  have 
separated  into  two  distinct  sorts  (called  sexes), 
partly  according  to  their  difference  in  Personal 
traits;  and  as  the  Personal  impulse  is,  as  we  have  seen 
elsewhere,  a  sort  of  general  hunger  of  the  body,  it 
turns  out  that  this  unlikeness  of  the  sexes  is  the  field 
of  the  most  striking  display  of  the  instinct.  Indeed, 
in  the  lower  animals  there  seems  to  be  no  other 
evidence  of  its  existence  than  this  attraction  between 
the  sexes,  which  seems  to  take  place  regularly,  /'.  e.y 
any  male  will  be  attracted  to  any  female.  In  these 
cases,  it  may  be  said,  simply,  that  the  Personal 
instinct  of  the  male  is  made  definite  by  the  Personal 
traits  of  the  female  and  vice  versa. 

But  in  the  higher  animals,  although  the  same  rule 
remains,  in  general,  true,  the  situation  becomes 
much  more  complex.  Not  all  females  will  accept  all 
males,  nor  are  all  males  attracted  by  all  females. 
Moreover,  the  attraction  appears  also  as  taking  place 


THE   PERSONAL  INSTINCT  215 

between  individuals  of  the  same  sex.  It  is  then  no 
longer  easy  to  make  a  satisfactory  classification 
of  those  who  shall  be  mutually  attractive,  though 
there  is  doubtless  some  fairly  constant  basis  for  at- 
tractiveness, and  this  may  some  day  be  discovered. 

It  has  already  been  stated  that  the  Personal  im- 
pulse is  an  attraction  of  every  part  of  one  individual 
to  the  corresponding  part  of  another  individual. 
The  mental  condition  corresponding  to  this  cannot  be 
observed  except  in  reasoning  man,  but  there  it  is 
striking.  The  mind  itself  is,  of  course,  conscious  of 
no  parts,  for  it  fuses  the  sensations  into  a  percept. 
Nevertheless  its  consciousness  of  attractiveness  in  its 
object,  part  by  part,  is  clearly  evident.  Thus  the 
lover  feels  affection  for  every  detail  of  the  beloved, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  regular  delights  of  such  a  one  to 
go  over  these  amiable  perfections.  ^ 

No  other   human   being,   for  instance,   has   such  N 
lovable  hair,  eyes,  cheeks,  ears,  arms,  hands,  feet, 
ankles;    such   a  nose,   mouth,  chin,  or  neck,  such    ) 
dimples;    such   a  warmth   and   fragrance  of  body; 
such  texture  of  hair  and  skin;    such  beauty  or  at-  ( 
tractiveness  of  shoes,  hats,  gowns,  etc.;   such  modu- 
lations of  voice;   such  grace  of  motion.     There  may  y 
be  no  detail,  bodily  or  Extra  bodily  or  of  thought, 
that  is  not  found  to  be  lovable  and  unique.     Ordina- 
rily, friendship  does  not  trouble  itself  to  make  the 
lover's   analysis,  nevertheless  the  situation  is  essen- 
tially the  same.     The  friend  likes  his  friend  as  he 
is,  and   does  not  for  an  instant  confuse  him  with 
any  one  else,  and  this  implies  the  attractiveness  in 


216  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

the  details.  It  is  this  keenly  Personal  nature  of  the 
instinct  that  is  its  psychological  essence,  and  it  marks 
it  ofF  absolutely  from  the  Social  instinct,  which 
regards  its  object  specifically,  /.  e.y  as  one  of  many 
similarly  attractive  individuals.  The  Personal  lover 
says  as  the  height  of  his  protestation,  "There  is 
nobody  else  in  the  world  like  you;"  the  Social  says, 
Write  me  as  one  who  loves  his  fellow  men." 
In  human  beings  this  entire  attractiveness  of  the 
Personal  object,  if  it  occurs,  is  likely  to  be  in  part  a 
deceived  satisfaction.  The  attractiveness  of  certain 
traits  makes  definite  the  Personal  impulse,  whereupon 
every  detail  of  the  object  seems  charming.  If,  how- 
ever, the  impulse  is  not  too  strong,  as  often  in  friend- 
ship and  not  infrequently  in  love,  the  imperfections 
may  be  fairly  admitted  and  the  Personal  impulse 
still  remain.  The  special  traits  chiefly  arousing  the 
Personal  impulse  in  man  are  said  to  vary  much 
in  different  individuals.  Some  men  seem  to  fall  in 
love  chiefly  with  hair,  others  with  lips,  others  with 
eyes;  or  it  may  be  a  movement  of  neck  or  of  hip  or 
of  ankle;  or,  like  Cinderella's  prince,  men  may  be 
attracted  by  a  cast-off"  shoe  or  glove.  In  short,  the 
instinct  in  man  seems  decidedly  freakish  in  what  it 
finds  inspiring.  This  is  perhaps  to  be  explained  as 
caused  by  the  concealment  (by  human  clothing)  of 
the  more  essentially  Personal  parts. 

Finally,  the  Personal  instinct  is  not  strictly  limited 
to  the  relations  of  individuals  of  one  species.  Dogs 
and  cats  and  horses  and  chickens  often  feel  friendship 
toward  one  another,  and  cases  of  actual  sex  relations 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  217 

between  animals  of  different  species  are  not  rare. 
This  latter  relation,  however,  is  regularly  a  case  of 
what  we  have  called  deceived  satisfaction,  and  takes 
place  in  the  absence  of  a  suitable  mate.  It  may  be 
noted,  under  this  general  head,  that  men  of  Personal 
force  regularly  arouse  friendship  in  the  lower  animals, 
and  are  attracted  toward  them  in  turn. 

We  now  turn  to  the  actions  of  the  Personal  instinct. 
The  special  actions  of  the  Personal  instinct  are 
brought  about  by  the  influence  of  that  instinct  upon 
the  Material  movements  of  the  body.  (Compare  the 
Personal  influence  on  the  form  of  the  body.)  The 
Material  movements  are  thus  checked  or  changed 
and  the  resultant  actions  often  resemble  very  little 
any  purely  Material  acts.  They  are,  besides,  of  no 
possible  Material  advantage  to  the  organism,  but 
tend  to  bring  about  the  satisfaction  of  the  Personal. 

The  Personal  instinct  exists,  of  course,  like  the 
others,  in  advance  of  all  experience.  If  it  grows  to  a 
sufficient  strength  of  impulse,  the  result  may  be 
restlessness  and  aimless  wandering.  It  brings  about, 
however,  at  the  same  time,  many  special  acts,  differ- 
ing in  different  species.  Such  are  pawing  or  scraping 
the  ground  or  rolling  upon  it;  walking  or  strutting 
or  flying  in  characteristic  and  eccentric  ways;  shak- 
ing the  head,  waving  the  tail;  urinating  against  or 
scratching  landmarks;  singing,  barking,  bellowing, 
or  the  making  of  such  sounds  as  we  hear  from  the 
insects.  From  the  Material  point  of  view,  the  ani- 
mals seem  oftentimes  stark  mad;  but,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  phenomena  of  the  Body-Personal  impulse,  a 


218  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

real  attractiveness  in  these  acts  is  most  commonly 
felt  by  man's  Personal  side. 

If  the  Personal  impulse  be  very  strong,  whether  in 
the  presence  of  its  object  or  not,  the  inherent  conflict 
between  it  and  the  Material  instinct  may  be  even 
more  strikingly  evident,  and  the  resultant  state  may 
have  a  plain  resemblance  to  the  negative  Material 
state  of  fear.  The  heart  beats  wildly  or  irregularly; 
the  skin  flushes  or  grows  "pale  and  wan;"  the  lungs 
work  convulsively  (called  panting  or  sighing);  the 
brain  is  confused  and  fails  to  act  as  a  unit;  the  mus- 
cles grow  weak;  the  body  trembles  and  experiences 
shivers  or  thrills;  fainting  or  even  death  may  result. 
Faintness,  languor,  lassitude,  and  the  like,  together 
with  hysteria  and  nervous  yawning,  are  also  some 
of  the  characteristic  phenomena,  and  may  show  the 
greater  or  less  force  of  the  instinct.  These,  it  will 
be  noted,  are  all  signs  of  partial  disintegrations  of  the 
Material  fusion  of  the  body,  and  they  may  annul  all 
the  ordinary  Personal  movements.  They  differ  from 
the  corresponding  states  of  Material  fear  in  that  they 
are  eager,  and  may  be  accompanied  by  a  feeling  of 
partial  pleasure  rather  than  by  one  of  unmixed  pain. 
The  situation  is  plainly  comparable  to  that  of  the 
unicellular  sex  cells  when  they  give  up  their  individual 
existences  and  join  to  form  a  single  larger  cell.  In 
both  cases  the  Personal  tends  to  work  the  disintegra- 
tion of  the  Material. 

The  Personal  instinct,  as  we  have  said,  may  be 
made  definite  by  influences  from  a  suitable  other 
individual.  The  resultant  action  is  then  an  approach 


THE  PERSONAL   INSTINCT  219 

and  an  attempt  to  unite  part  for  part  with  the  desired 
mate.  This  attempted  union  is  chiefly  between  the 
more  sensitive  parts  of  the  body.  It  commonly  begins 
with  the  touching  of  heads,  or  of  mouths  (kissing  or 
licking),  the  pressing  together  of  cheeks  (in  man,  also 
the  holding  of  hands).  This  is  regularly  followed 
by  a  pressing  together  of  the  bodies  (in  man,  a  hug 
or  embrace).  The  final  and  highest  degree  of  the 
impulse  is  accompanied  by  a  meeting  of  the  specially 
sexual  parts.  There  may  then  follow  an  emission  of 
free  sex-cells  with  a  feeling  of  Personal  satisfaction 
and  a  lessening  of  the  Personal  impulse  or  desire. 
All  these  actions  are  characteristically  different  in 
different  species  of  animals,  and  are  regularly  per- 
formed without  the  necessity  of  previous  experience 
or  practice.  They  require,  in  many  cases,  the  use 
of  special  muscles  almost  or  quite  out  of  the  influence 
of  the  ordinary  Material  control,  though  the  expulsion 
of  free  sex-cells  is  distinctly  Material  in  nature. 

It  is  now  our  duty  to  attempt  an  analysis  of 
the  Personal  instinct  where  it  touches  reproduction. 
Reproduction  is  distinctly  not  Personal  but  is  Social. 
Even  the  emission  of  free  sex-cells  is  not  Personal, 
but  is  (perhaps)  wholly  Material.  It  is  for  this  rea- 
son that  it  is  not  wise  to  call  the  Personal  instinct 
the  sexual.  The  division  of  animals  into  sexes  is 
quite  as  much  a  reproductive  arrangement  as  it  is 
a  love  arrangement,  as  Darwin,  by  the  way,  found 
when  he  came  to  discuss  sexual  selection.  If  the 
situation  is  to  be  cleared  up,  the  elements  that  are 
Personal  must  be  kept  clearly  distinct  from  those  that 


220  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

are  Material  and  Social,  though,  at  the  same  time, 
it  must  not  be  supposed  that  several  instincts  may 
not  join  in  one  act.  That  they  may  and  do,  is  one 
of  the  axioms  of  character.  Nevertheless,  although 
they  join,  each  one  produces  its  own  characteristic 
effects  and  no  others. 

We  propose,  then,  a  theory  of  the  psychological 
side  of  coition. 

The  type  form  of  Personal  action  is,  as  we  have 
seen,  the  mutual  seeking  and  uniting  of  the  two  sex- 
cells,  as  in  unicellular  animals  and  plants,  and,  in 
the  course  of  reproduction,  in  all  higher  animals  and 
plants.  There  is,  therefore,  nothing  creative  in  the 
Personal  instinct.  It  is  a  seeking  out  and  a  uniting 
with,  and  nothing  more. 

The  production  of  sex-cells  (ova  and  spermatozoa) 
is  therefore  not  Personal  but  Material-Social,  for  it 
is  the  Material  instinct  that  produces  the  cells  of  the 
body,  and  the  Social,  as  we  shall  see,  that  influences 
to  the  overproduction  of  them.  These  cells,  how- 
ever, being  superfluous  and  also  overwhelmingly 
Personal,  are  not  and  cannot  be  contained  in  the 
body  unit,  but  at  maturity  are  cast  forth  (Materially) 
and  wander  to  find  their  mates. 

We  suppose,  then,  that,  at  the  moment  of  leaving, 
their  Personal  impulse  (the  cells  being  at  last  mature) 
would  be  at  its  very  strongest,  and  that,  through  the 
body  sympathy,  it  would  arouse  the  Personal  im- 
pulse in  all  the  other  cells  of  the  body.  It  is  plain 
that  in  this  way  it  might  come  about  that,  in  propor- 
tion as  the  sex-cells  matured,  the  whole  body  would 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  221 

be  increasingly  aroused  Personally,  and  that  at  the 
approach  of  the  actual  moment  of  the  departure,  the 
cells  of  the  body  might  rise  to  a  sort  of  spasm  of 
Personal  excitation.  After  the  departure,  however, 
there  would  be  a  distinct  collapse  of  the  Personal 
impulse  and  thus  also  of  those  conditions  caused  by 
their  Personal  influence  on  the  Material  conditions 
of  the  body.1 

From  this  point  of  view  the  behavior  of  the  higher 
organisms  may  be  made  clear.  The  organism  has, 
itself,  a  Personal  instinct,  which  is  a  repetition  of  the 
instinct  of  its  sex-cells,  /.  e.y  if  the  cells  are  male  the 
organism  is  male,  and,  similarly,  female  sex-cells  are 
found  in  the  female  organism.  This,  indeed,  is  the 
result  of  the  influence  of  these  cells  in  the  Body- 
Personal  unit.  If,  now,  the  sex-cells  are  preparing 
to  go  free  and  in  search  of  their  mates,  their  strong 
Personal  impulse  will  arouse,  through  sympathy,  the 
Personal  impulse  of  the  organism,  which,  then,  will 
seek  a  mate  for  itself  and  will  attempt  the  fruitless 
task  of  uniting  with  it,  part  for  part.  Thus  the  mo- 
ment of  the  emission  of  the  free  sex-cells  will  be 
the  moment  of  the  height  of  Personal  impulse  in 
the  body. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Personal  impulse  of  the 
body  unit  may  be  made  definite  by  influences  from 
a  suitable  other  organism,  and  may  attempt  the 
impossible  union,  and  this  strengthening  of  the  Per- 

1  Hence,  also,  perhaps,  the  quick  fading  and  falling  of  the  flower- 
petals  (Material  with  Personal  influence)  after  the  partial  satisfaction 
of  the  Personal  impulse  in  anthers  and  ovaries. 


222  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

sonal  impulse  may  induce  in  the  sex-cells  a  greater 
vigor  and  so  determine  the  time  of  their  emission. 

Thus  the  Personal  impulse  of  the  sex-cells  and  that 
of  the  body  aid  each  other  and  determine  each  other, 
within  limits,  mutually.  All  the  while,  however,  the 
Personal  impulse  is  the  uniting  force  merely,  and 
not  the  reproductive  one.^X 

The  primitive  and  unmixed  form  of  copulation  is, 
accordingly,  that  of  the  fish  and  the  frogs  and  toads. 
Here  the  parents  lie  close  to  each  other  and  both 
emit  sex-cells  (ova  and  sperm)  which  then  find  each 
other  and  unite  Personally  (a  real  union)  in  the 
neighboring  water.  In  this  and  all  other  unions 
(according  to  our  position),  it  is  to  be  kept  clear  that 
the  only  interest  of  the  parents  is  in  each  other.  The 
emission  of  sex-cells,  though  causing  or  determined 
by  Personal  excitation,  is  not  in  any  way  an  essential 
part  of  the  Personal  act,  and  as  for  the  union  of  such 
emitted  sex-cells  with  each  other,  the  Personal  instinct 
of  the  parents  has  no  interest  in  it  of  any  sort.  If  the 
parents  (one  or  both  of  them)  have  an  interest  in  the 
offspring — as  some  frogs  and  fish  have — this  is  no 
longer  the  Personal  instinct,  but  the  Social,  and  is  a 
very  different  matter.  Hence  we  defer  to  our  next 
chapter  the  consideration  of  all  the  arrangements 
made  to  insure  the  meeting  of  the  sex-cells  and  their 
preservation  thereafter  until  maturity. 

The  influence  of  the  sex-glands  upon  the  Personal 
instinct  is,  as  appears  above,  very  considerable.  It 
may  fairly  be  called  the  focus  of  the  instinct.  If  this 
focus  is  strong,  as  in  most  male  animals,  the  impulse 


THE  PERSONAL   INSTINCT  223 

of  the  body  as  a  whole  is  likely  to  be  strong,  and  may 
be  made  definite  by  even  a  slight  influence  from 
another  individual.  If  the  focus  is  weaker,  as  in 
most  females,  the  impulse  is  less  easily  made  definite 
and  the  influence  must  be  more  powerful.  Hence 
males  are  in  general  satisfied  with  any  mate,  and  if 
the  suitable  mate  is  not  forthcoming,  may  attempt  a 
deceived  satisfaction  even  with  mates  of  another 
species.  Females,  on  the  other  hand,  are  commonly 
more  reluctant — though  it  must  be  noted  that  the 
Social  reproductive  impulses  of  the  female  are  in  no 
way  essentially  inconsistent  with  strong  Personal 
instincts. 

It  is  evident  that  there  may  be  two  sorts  of  Personal 
experiences,  according  to  the  source  of  the  chief  in- 
fluence. If  the  instinct  is  strongly  aroused  by  the 
sex  focus,  a  very  slightly  attractive  influence  may 
make  it  definite.  If,  then,  the  power  of  the  sex  focus 
falls  (after  coition),  the  lack  of  attractiveness  in  the 
object  of  desire  may  become  evident,  and  the  feeling 
toward  it  may  be  even  that  of  repulsion.  This  form 
of  the  instinct,  as  dependent  almost  entirely  on  the 
sex  focus,  is  called  lust. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  body  instinct  is  first 
made  definite,  and  is  made  so  by  the  influence  of  an 
external  object,  and  that  definite  impulse  spread  to 
and  arouse  the  sex-glands  to  sympathetic  vigor,  the 
situation  is  quite  different.  For,  then,  if  the  power 
of  the  sex  focus  falls  through  coition,  the  desire  of 
the  body  as  a  whole  will  not  grow  much  less,  since 
the  whole  body  was  much  aroused  by  the  sex  focus 


224  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

and  much  of  this  remains.  This  form  of  the  instinct 
is  called  love.  It  evidently  cannot  be  satisfied  so 
long  as  its  object  continues  to  be  attractive. 

Lust  and  love  are  thus  hardly  to  be  distinguished 
before  sexual  gratification.  For  impulses,  as  we  have 
frequently  noticed,  are  quite  unconscious  and  im- 
possible of  analysis  or  examination  except  through 
experiences.  It  is  the  confusion  of  these  two  forms 
of  the  Personal  impulse,  together  with  an  utterly 
erroneous  conception  of  marriage,  that,  as  much  as 
anything,  has  brought  about  so  many  mistaken 
human  alliances. 

Friendship,  attachment,  liking,  and  the  like,  being 
cases  in  which  sex  is  out  of  the  question,  either  be- 
cause of  the  bars  of  society,  or  because  of  the  identity 
in  sex  of  the  two  individuals,  or  for  any  other  cause, 
are  plainly  related  more  closely  to  love  than  to  lust. 
They  may  exist  when  the  sex-glands  are  quite  absent, 
as  between  oxen  or  gelded  horses.  Nevertheless, 
they  may  and  do  take  on  a  sexual  cast  even  between 
individuals  of  the  same  sex.  Hence  certain  vices, 
found  both  in  the  lower  animals  and  in  man.  The 
negative  forms  may  be  called  dislike,  repugnance, 
and  the  like. 

Personal,  fear,  with  its  behavior  like  a  negative 
Personal  impulse,  takes  place  in  situations  analogous 
to  those  in  which  Material  fear  is  seen  to  occur.  It 
arises,  namely,  when  the  Personal  impulse  is  over- 
whelmed by  the  Personal  influence  from  some  other 
individual,  and  is  therefore  unable  to  fuse  the  sensa- 
tion or  to  respond  without  confusion.  This  over- 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  225 

whelming  may  be  of  two  sorts:  either  a  positive  im- 
pulse may  overwhelm  a  positive  or  negative  one  (as 
in  coyness,  shyness,  bashfulness,  diffidence,  sheepish- 
ness,  embarrassment,  and  the  like,  with  such  actions 
as  blushing,  flushing,  simpering,  giggling,  and  other 
marks  of  confusion);  or  a  negative  may. overwhelm 
a  negative  or  a  positive  one  (as  in  Personal  timidity, 
cowardice,  pusillanimity,  and  the  like  with  such 
actions,  perhaps,  as  whining,  cringing,  and  the  like). 
In  either  case  the  inability  to  respond  may  finally  re- 
sult in  a  state  of  panic  or  fear  (Material)  with  the 
ordinary  acts  of  flight  or  wild  attack. 

We  turn  now  to  the  acts  of  the  negative  impulse. 

The  negative  Personal  impulse  may  take  the  forms 
of  antipathy,  dislike,  repulsion,  and  the  like,  and  may 
result  in  a  mere  avoidance  and  retreat  from  its  object. 

Frequently,  however,  the  feeling  is  much  stronger, 
when  it  may  be  called  detestation,  enmity,  hate, 
antagonism,  hostility,  and  the  like.  In  these  cases 
the  negative  impulse  may  be,  and  very  often  is,  so 
strong  as  to  result  in  an  advance  upon  the  object  of 
dislike,  the  actions  being,  in  general,  those  of  the 
positive  Personal  impulse.  We  take  the  same  posi- 
tion here  as  in  the  case  of  the  strong  negative  Ma- 
terial impulse,  namely,  that  negative  acts  of  attack 
must  be  explained  as  derived  from  positive  acts,  the 
extreme  negative  behaving  like  the  positive. 

It  may  be  well  to  consider  this  matter  more  fully. 

In  the  first  place,  when  an  animal  attacks  another 
from  Personal  rage,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  he 
has  any  distinct  idea  or  thought  of  doing  harm.  It 


226  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

is  not  to  be  believed  that  he  has  any  thought  of  what 
harm  or  pain  or  death  are.  What  he  does  is  to  make 
a  wild  rush  at  the  object  of  his  negative  impulse. 
The  harm  done  is,  in  a  sense,  accidental. 

In  the  next  place,  it  is  to  be  noticed  that  the  actions 
of  animals  in  attack  are  not  calculated,  but  are  char- 
acteristic of  the  animal  in  question.  We  note,  for 
instance,  that  animals  that  lock  horns  and  hook  with 
the  horns  seem  to  have  little  knowledge  of  the  use 
they  are  making  or  might  make  of  these  apparent 
weapons.  Their  attacks  are  not  to  be  thought  of  as 
in  any  way  comparable  to  the  trained  fighting  of 
duellists,  though  our  nature-writers  like  to  make 
them  seem  so.  There  is  a  regular,  definite,  stupid 
method  of  attack,  for  it  is  not  really  an  attack  but  is 
a  rush  toward  an  object  from  which  retreat  would 
be  the  normal  course. 

It  may  be  well  to  notice  at  this  point  that  the  pur- 
pose of  horns  (undoubtedly  Personal  in  origin)  has 
never  been  satisfactorily  explained  from  the  point  of 
view  that  they  are  efficient  weapons.  All  animals 
attack  head  first,  and  their  horns,  if  they  have  any, 
thus  come  into  play,  but  the  economy  of  the  horns 
is  not  therefore  made  clear.  In  goats,  for  instance, 
and  rams,  they  are  of  no  real  use,  and  these  are  not 
uncommon  cases.  In  the  moose  and  most  deer  they 
are  often  as  bad  as  useless,  being  cumbersome  and 
in  the  way;  these  animals  are,  indeed,  some  of  them, 
said  to  be  more  dangerous  with  their  feet  than  with 
their  horns.  The  case  of  the  barn-yard  bull  where 
the  horns  are  really  fit  and  dangerous,  is  an  uncom- 


THE  PERSONAL   INSTINCT  227 

mon  one.  If  natural  selection  had  taken  place  ac- 
cording to  the  efficiency  of  horns  as  weapons,  this 
would  not  be  the  case.  It  is  to  be  recollected  also, 
that  Personal  fear  is  caused  by  Personal  influences 
and  not  by  bodily  harm  done;  the  latter  causes 
Material  fear,  not  Personal.  So  far  as  sexual  selec- 
tion enters  into  the  question  of  the  forms  of  horns, 
spurs,  and  the  like,  it  probably  enters  in,  at  least  in 
considerable  part,  upon  a  Personal  basis,  /.  *>.,  these 
so-called  weapons  are  chosen  according  to  the 
influence  they  exert,  /'.  e.,  according  to  the  strength  of 
Personal  instinct  they  exhibit  to  rivals  and  to  females. 
Such  strength,  however,  is  in  no  way  connected  with 
mere  physical  strength  or  skill;  though,  when  put  to 
the  test,  the  physical  side,  of  course,  enters  in.  In  a 
word,  horns,  spurs,  and  the  like,  are  probably  to  be 
considered  as  primarily  sexual  ornaments  and  influ- 
ences, and  only  secondarily  and  through  natural 
selection,  as  weapons.  It  is  thus  by  a  kind  of  chance 
that  they  become  weapons,  although,  being  used  so, 
they  come,  of  course,  more  or  less  within  the  range 
of  Material  selection. 

It  is  to  be  noticed  further  that  the  attacks  of 
animals  are  all  essentially  alike  and  all  essentially  the 
acts  of  the  positive  Personal  instinct.  There  is, 
namely,  first  a  union  of  heads,  then  of  the  whole  body, 
part  for  part.  Dogs,  for  instance,  regularly  seize  their 
opponents  by  the  neck,  and  do  not  attempt  to  bite 
them  in  other  parts  even  though  the  opportunity  is 
open  and  evident.  (When  a  dog  bites  another  in 
the  foot,  as  happens  not  infrequently,  it  is  an  acci- 


228  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

dent.)  After  rushing  his  opponent,  the  dog,  if 
successful,  regularly  stands  over  him,  worrying  him 
about  the  head  and  neck.  So,  also,  the  horned 
animals  stand  over  the  defeated  adversaries,  stamp 
on  them  and  worry  or  horn  them,  head  to  head. 
Notice,  on  the  other  hand,  the  behavior  of  the  fighting 
cock,  which  regularly  seizes  its  opponent  by  the  comb 
and  then  jumps  up  at  it  with  its  feet.  The  act  is 
essentially  the  act  of  the  cock  toward  the  hen. 
Moreover,  the  attacks  of  the  negative  impulse  are 
regularly  preceded  by  evolutions  comparable  to  the 
evolutions  of  the  positive  impulse,  the  voice  being 
also  regularly  used. 

The  differences  between  the  attack  and  the  sexual 
approach,  however,  are  apparent,  and  must  be  ex- 
plained. This  can  hardly  be  attempted  now  for 
lack  of  suitable  material,  but  certain  considerations 
may  be  offered.  In  the  first  place,  the  negative  at- 
tack is  commonly  complicated  by  a  relation  of  the 
opponents  to  each  other  as  obstacles.  Each  may  be 
an  obstacle  to  the  other.  The  advance  upon  an 
obstacle,  however,  may  be  not  negative  but  positive, 
for  it  may  be  directed  really  to  something  behind  the 
obstacle.  The  human  mind  in  its  fighting  almost 
always  has  this  thought  as  part  of  its  contents.  In 
the  second  place,  the  excitement  of  the  negative  im- 
pulse when  it  reaches  the  point  of  attack  is  very  great, 
probably  far  greater  than  in  any  ordinary  positive 
excitement  of  sex.  The  harm  done  in  an  attack  is  no 
doubt  due  in  part  to  this  convulsive  nervous  state. 
In  the  third  place,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that,  in 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  229 

the  actual  clinch,  Material  fear  comes  in  as  a  strong 
factor  and  often  causes  much  of  the  harm  done  by 
one  antagonist  to  the  other.  The  fighting  of  cats, 
for  instance,  is  apparently  in  large  part  Material 
panic.  In  the  higher  animals  also,  where  memory 
is  lively,  the  Material  element  may  be  important  and 
may  determine  certain  actions  even  before  the  clinch. 
One  of  the  antagonists  may  be  Materially  cautious 
or  may  even  run  away  because  of  Material  fear 
aroused  by  memory. 

It  is  evident  that  the  state  of  mind  in  the  Personal 
attack  is  not  a  simple  matter.  The  above  considera- 
tions are  therefore  to  be  taken  at  their  value  as  sug- 
gestions. A  much  more  elaborate  examination  of  the 
phenomena  (and  they  are  not  easy  of  examination) 
must  be  made  before  any  definite  settlement  of  the 
cases  can  be  made. 

It  may  now  be  well  to  run  over  the  ordinary  cases 
of  Personal  relation  arising  between  individuals. 
There  are  six  of  these. 

1.  If  the  Personal  impulse  is  mutual  and  positive, 
the  course  of  events  is  clear  of  obstacles.     Love  and 
friendship  proceed  simply  and  regularly — unless  the 
impulse  is  so  strong  as  to  result  in  mutual  avoidance   [ 
(shyness),  as  sometimes  occurs  in  man. 

2.  More    commonly    a    positive    impulse    in    the 
suitor    finds   a   weaker   positive   in    the   mate.       In 
this  case  the  stronger  impulse  overwhelms  the  weaker 
and  so  causes  the  form  of  fear  called  coyness  or 
embarrassment.      The    mate   therefore   flees,   or   at 
least  resists,  resistance  being  a  form  of  flight  in  that 


230  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

it  is  an  attempt  to  put  space  between  mate  and  suitor; 
the  mate  may  even  attack  the  suitor. 

In  this  case  the  suitor  may  act  in  either  of  two  ways: 
On  the  one  hand,  he  may  attempt  to  overcome  the 
resistance  of  the  mate  by  sheer  force.  This  method 
is  a  common  one  among  the  animals,  especially 
among  those  that  are  polygamous.  The  suitor  in 
such  cases  advances  upon  the  mate,  pushes  and  beats 
her  about,  if  necessary,  until  he  secures  his  desire. 
Thus  the  cock  stands  upon  no  ceremony  with  an 
unwilling  hen,  and  similar  treatment,  apparently,  is 
not  infrequent  among  our  English  sparrows.  Such 
actions,  being  positively  Personal  in  origin,  are  com- 
monly influential  in  arousing  the  positive  Personal 
impulse  in  the  mate  to  the  point  where  she  yields 
willingly.  If,  for  some  reason,  she  fails  to  yield, 
serious  harm  may  be  done  her.  Darwin1  quotes  the 
following  as  to  seals :  "  Frequently  a  struggle  ensues 
between  two  males  for  the  possession  of  the  same 
female,  and  both,  seizing  her  at  once,  pull  her  in  two 
or  terribly  lacerate  her  with  their  teeth."  That  is 
rough  wooing,  and  a  hard  penalty  to  be  paid  (ap- 
parently) for  seeming  reluctance  in  the  female.  In 
man,  as  is  well  known,  one  of  the  common  methods 
of  wooing  is  the  violent  one,  and  it  undoubtedly 
succeeds  in  many  cases  in  arousing  stronger  affection 
in  the  mate. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  same  method  may  exist 
also  in  the  case  of  friendship.  A  man  may  be  in- 
trusive, pushing,  hectoring,  or  bullying,  toward  a 

1  "Descent  of  Man,"  Vol.  II,  p.  258. 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  231 

friend  whom  he  likes  but  who  likes  him  less,  and 
this  treatment  may  strengthen  friendship. 

The  other  method  of  behavior  occurs  in  those 
cases  in  which  the  suitor  is  less  fierce.  The  suitor 
then  retreats  for  the  moment  but  soon  attempts 
another  approach.  In  these  cases  the  suitor,  while 
at  a  distance  from  the  mate,  goes  through  the 
various  preliminary  Personal  actions,  commonly 
called  courtship.  These  acts  have  already  been 
noted.  They  are  such  acts  as  pawing  or  scraping 
the  ground,  walking  or  strutting  or  flying  in  char- 
acteristic ways,  shaking  the  head,  waving  the  tail, 
bellowing,  singing,  and  the  like.  They  are  sometimes 
explained  as  arising  out  of  an  intent  to  persuade  the 
reluctant  mate,  but  such  an  explanation  goes  beyond 
the  evidence.  The  male  may  perform  the  same  acts 
whenever  the  Personal  impulse  is  aroused,  even 
though  the  desired  object  is  quite  absent.  Birds,  for 
instance,  will  sing  when  they  have  no  mates  nor  any 
prospect  or  remembrance  of  any,  and  a  similar  state- 
ment may  be  made  of  most  other  animals.  Hence 
we  have  put  the  acts  of  courtship  among  the  pre- 
liminary acts  of  the  Personal  instinct. 

The  more  serious  objection  to  the  courtship  theory, 
however,  is  the  one  against  the  introduction  of  purpose 
into  the  minds  of  the  lower  animals.  Purpose  im- 
plies memory  and  reason,  and  if  we  are  to  advance  to 
a  secure  position,  must  be  rigidly  and  absolutely 
excluded  where  those  mental  powers  are  not  proved 
in  the  actual  case  under  discussion.  Now  the 
courting  of  the  lower  animals  requires  no  experience. 


232  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Therefore  it  includes  no  memory  or  reason;  it  is 
therefore  without  purpose.  It  is  the  inevitable  act 
of  the  mind  under  the  stress  of  the  Personal  impulse. 

Nevertheless,  the  acts  of  courtship,  since  they  are 
Personal  in  origin,  have  a  Personal  influence,  and 
undoubtedly  have  weight  in  persuading  the  reluctant 
mate.  It  may  be  noted,  in  this  connection,  also,  that 
even  in  the  case  of  man,  the  winning  of  love  and 
friendship  depends  very  little  upon  purpose  and 
reason.  The  strongly  Personal  type  of  man  arouses 
love  and  hate,  and  makes  friends  and  enemies,  quite 
unconsciously  and  inevitably,  wherever  he  goes;  and 
similarly  the  strongly  Personal  woman,  girl,  or  child. 

While  the  movements  of  courtship  are  proceeding, 
the  suitor  constantly  approaches  the  mate,  and  if  the 
impulse  grows  stronger  may  make  an  attempt  to 
overcome  reluctance  by  a  physical  attack. 

In  man  courtship  shows  itself  in  such  acts  as  smil- 
ing, ogling  (or  at  least  a  characteristic  glance),  and 
in  distinct  changes  from  the  Material  forms  of  the 
general  bodily  movements  and  the  tones  of  the  voice. 
Much  the  same  phenomena  are  visible  between 
friends  and  between  lovers. 

On  the  side  of  the  reluctant  mate  there  are  also 
distinct  phenomena.  The  stronger  influence  of  the 
mate  arouses  fear  in  her  and  she  retreats  or  resists. 
When,  however,  she  has  retreated  to  a  certain  dis- 
tance, the  influence  of  the  suitor  becomes  so  much 
less  that  her  weaker  positive  impulse  may  come  into 
play  again,  and  she  may  stop  or  even  advance,  es- 
pecially if  the  suitor  seems  less  insistent,  i.  e.,  if  his 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  233 

impulse  and,  therefore,  his  Personal  influence  grows 
less.  This  is  the  characteristic  behavior  of  what  is 
called  coyness.  It  exists  both  in  friendship  and  in 
love,  and,  though  we  have  spoken  of  the  pair  as 
male  and  female,  is  found  in  both  sexes.  It  is  partly 
unpleasant  (fear)  and  partly  pleasant  (the  satisfied 
positive  Personal  impulse). 

3.  When  a  positive  Personal  impulse  in  the  suitor 
finds  a  weak  negative  Personal  in  the  mate,  the  be- 
havior of  the  suitor  is  as  above.  The  negative  Per- 
sonal of  the  mate  may  change  as  the  result  of  bullying 
or  courtship,  in  which  case  the  situation  would  fall 
under  our  second  head;  or  it  may  grow  stronger,  in 
which  case  it  would  fall  under  our  fourth.  It  cannot, 
however,  show  signs  of  coyness  unless  it  is  partially 
positive.  The  negative  Personal  on  escaping  from 
the  suitor  will  not  look  back. 

It  may  be  well  to  notice  here  that  the  positive  Per- 
sonal influence  will  not  always  arouse  or  make  definite 
a  positive  Personal  impulse  in  another  individual, 
nor  a  negative  Personal  influence  a  negative  Personal 
impulse.  In  the  majority  of  cases  our  regular  posi- 
tion as  to  such  influence  is  doubtless  true,  but  our 
axiom  as  to  the  matter  holds  that  the  influence  works 
regularly  upon  suitable  individuals.  It  is  individual 
variation  that  breaks  the  regularity  of  the  rule.  In 
the  atoms  every  influence  and  action  may  be  ex- 
pected, for  one  atom  is  like  another  of  the  same  sort. 
Similarly,  in  the  lowest  animals  the  actions  and  in- 
fluences are  apparently  simple  and  regular.  But  in 
the  higher  animals  and  in  man  individual  differences 


234  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

are  considerable  and  important,  and  in  actual  cases 
it  is  not  at  all  certain  that  because  a  bird  or  a  butterfly 
will  mate  with  a  certain  individual,  it  will  therefore 
mate  with  any  other  individual.  So,  also,  a  very 
amorous  suitor  may  fail  with  a  mate,  when  another 
will  succeed  at  once,  and  certain  suitors  may  find  no 
mates  at  all.  If  our  axiom  is  to  hold  good,  however, 
all  cases  of  really  unsuccessful  wooing  must  be  put 
under  the  head  of  deceived  satisfactions.  True  love 
is  mutual  and  often  "at  first  sight" — which,  by  the 
way,  does  not  mean  that  it  can  happen  only  once. 
It  will  probably  happen  often  to  normal  individuals, 
unless  there  is  something  to  hinder  it. 

4.  When  the  positive  Personal  impulse  meets  with 
a  strong  negative  Personal  in  the  mate,  there  are  two 
plain  possibilities.  Most  commonly,  perhaps,  the 
positive  Personal  changes  to  a  negative,  and  the  result 
is  then  either  avoidance  or  an  attack. 

If,  however,  the  positive  Personal  persists  in  the 
face  of  the  strong  negative,  the  result  is  regularly  an 
attack  by  the  negative,  which  attack  the  positive 
Personal  may  avoid  but  does  not  answer.  This  is 
called  meekness  or  humility  in  the  suitor.  It  is 
shown  regularly,  also,  in  the  cases  where  coyness 
reaches  the  point  of  attack  upon  the  suitor.  This 
state  may  be  observed  in  many  of  the  higher  animals, 
noticeably  in  our  domestic  animals,  except  the  fowls. 
It  is  plain  also  in  man.  A  woman  who  yields  to 
an  overbearing  man  may  show  meekness  (cf.  "The 
Taming  of  the  Shrew");  or  a  man  may  take  rebuffs 
from  a  woman  or  a  friend  with  meekness.  The 


THE  PERSONAL   INSTINCT  235 

same  state  is  undoubtedly  also  part  of  the  relation- 
ship of  a  dog  to  his  master. 

5.  When  a  negative  Personal  meets  an  equal 
negative,  the  result  plainly  must  be  either  an  avoid- 
ance or  an  approach  that  may  end  in  an  attack. 

Not  all  the  actions  of  animals  in  this  relation  are 
well  described  or  understood,  but  it  is  pretty  certain 
that  many  animals  never  or  rarely  attack,  but  are 
content  to  go  through  evolutions  that  result  in  nothing. 
Thus,  in  some  species  of  birds  the  males  in  mating\ 
season  will  meet  and  dance  about  by  the  hour  together 
with  no  harm  done.  Similarly,  domestic  cats  will 
sometimes  caterwaul  and  walk  about  each  other  half 
the  night  without  coming  to  an  actual  contest  of 
physical  strength.  It  may  be  well  to  note  that  the 
same  thing  exists  among  human  beings,  who  will 
often  roar  and  make  faces  at  each  other  rather  than  N 
fight,  and  it  is  to  be  noticed,  also,  that  these  things 
actually  are  the  effective  means  of  the  Personal\ 
instinct.  The  American  Indian  with  his  paint  and 
his  feathers  and  his  war-whoop,  or  the  Asiatic  with 
his  war-mask  and  his  noise,  is  Personally  a  terrible 
figure.  The  man  with  the  gun,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  Materially  terrible,  and  the  Personal  force  may 
wilt  with  the  failure  of  the  Material  to  support  it. 
Note,  too,  that  the  most  commanding  and  fear 
inspiring  men,  even  in  civilized  life,  are  not  by  any 
means  the  men  of  greatest  physical  strength.  It  is 
the  strong  Personal  force  that  accomplishes  the  result, 
directly,  and  arouses  Personal  respect  or  fear 
others. 


236  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

The  negative  Personal  impulse  when  strong  and 
when  it  leads  to  a  disregard  of  physical  (Material) 
danger  is  called  courage,  bravery,  heroism,  and  the 
like.  It  is  not  in  itself  attractive  (Personal  admira- 
tion requires  sympathy  and  imagination  and  is  thus 
partially  Social),  but  as  it  is  a  sign  of  a  strong  Personal 
instinct  its  possessors  usually  are  attractive.  Lack 
of  sufficient  strength  in  the  Personal  impulse  is 
called  cowardice.  Cowardice  is,  of  course,  not  Per- 
sonally attractive  since  it  implies  the  weakness  or 
absence  of  the  Personal  impulse.  If,  however,  the 
lack  was  due  to  a  failure  of  the  Personal  to  control 
the  Material,  /.  *-.,  if  the  cowardice  was  due  to  phys- 
ical weakness,  the  individual  may  be  found  under 
other  circumstances  to  be  exceedingly  attractive  Per- 
sonally— and  this  is  not  infrequently  the  case. 

6.  When  a  negative  Personal  meets  a  weaker  nega- 
tive Personal,  the  stronger  inspires  fear  in  the  weaker 
with  a  resultant  retreat,  flight,  or  mad  attack.  All 
this  occurs  without  the  need  of  physical  violence. 

We  have  so  far  considered  only  the  cases  in  which 
two  individuals  are  involved.  Most  commonly,  per- 
haps— certainly  most  notoriously — there  are  three  or 
more,  namely,  several  suitors  for  one  mate.  The 
essential  considerations  in  this  position  are  the 
following:  (i)  Since  a  Personal  union  takes  place 
between  two  individuals  and  no  more,  any  third 
individual  must  be  viewed  as  outside  of  the  case, 
/'.  e.,  as  an  impurity  in  the  union.  But  all  unions 
in  nature  tend  to  be  pure.  Hence  there  will  be  a 
tendency  to  expel  the  third  individual.  (2)  As  the 


THE  PERSONAL   INSTINCT  237 

Personal  instinct  is  the  one  that  recognizes  the  im- 
purity, the  recognition  must  be  Personal.  Hence 
the  expulsion  of  the  superfluous  individual  must  be 
the  work  of  the  negative  Personal  impulse,  and  we 
may  expect  a  show  of  the  negative  Personal  actions 
toward  such  an  individual.  (3)  As  the  Personal 
instinct  regularly  recognizes  only  individuals  of  its 
own  sort,  the  Personal  feeling  will  not  regularly  be 
exhibited  toward  other  (e.  g.,  inanimate)  obstructions. 
The  feeling  of  several  suitors  toward  each  other  is 

O 

called  rivalry,  jealousy,  and  the  like.  This  negative 
Personal  impulse  produces  no  special  acts  in  the 
lowest  animals,  where  it  is  merely  a  question,  ap- 
parently, of  who  arrives  first;  but  in  the  higher  ani- 
mals rivalry  is  a  very  conspicuous  situation.  Some- 
times, as  in  the  goldfinch,  the  rivals  seem  to  pay  little 
attention  to  each  other,  each  devoting  his  attention 
exclusively  to  the  mate;  in  other  cases,  as  in  the 
flickers,  or  the  quails,  the  rivals  pay  attentions  ex- 
clusively to  each  other,  but  without  fighting;  most 
commonly  the  rivals  fight,  and  the  winner  ordinarily 
wins  the  mate. 

The  condition  of  rivalry  and  jealousy  is  such  an 
important  one  in  life  that  it  may  almost  be  said  to 
be  the  chief  phenomenon  of  the  Personal  instinct. 
Its  full  development  takes  place  only  after  memory, 
or  at  least  recognition,  comes  in,  and  we  will  content 
ourselves,  therefore,  for  the  present,  with  the  above 
mere  outline  of  its  essential  points.  It  may  be  noted 
here,  however,  that  rivalry  and  jealousy  may  go 
beyond  the  ordinary  bounds  of  Personal  recognition, 


238  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

as  when  dogs  are  jealous  of  their  master's  affection 
and  become  rivals  of  each  other  in  it. 

The  pleasures  and  pains  of  the  Personal  instinct 
are  the  most  demonstrative  the  mind  has.  Some  of 
our  strongest  words  are  used  of  them. 

The  pleasures  may  be  called  delight,  delectation, 
joy,  ecstasy,  ravishment,  rapture,  and  the  like. 

Overflow  actions  and  states  in  pleasure  may  be 
lightness,  breeziness,  animation,  gayety,  sprightliness, 
frolicsomeness,  glee,  merriment,  radiance,  smiling, 
grinning,  laughter,  shouting,  and  the  like,  culminat- 
ing in  languidness,  tears,  and  the  like.  In  the  lower 
animals  there  are  singing,  crowing,  bellowing, 
trumpeting,  and  various  other  demonstrations. 

The  overflow  actions  of  displeasure  (called  grief, 
sorrow,  agony,  and  the  like)  are  correspondingly 
violent  and  may  take  the  forms  of  crying,  weeping, 
wailing,  howling,  lamentation,  frenzy,  and  the  like, 
not  rarely  ending  in  (Material)  fainting,  pining  away, 
or  even  death.  In  civilized,  reasoning,  remembering 
man,  no  feeling  so  often  results  in  suicide  as  Personal 
grief.  Many  prefer  not  to  live  rather  than  endure 
it,  constantly  recurring  as  it  does  through  memory 
of  the  facts  and  circumstances  that  accompanied  its 
causing. 

THE    RECOGNITION-PERSONAL    INSTINCT 

The  Recognition-Personal  instinct  is  the  Personal 
instinct  with  recognition  memory.  This  memory 
may  be  both  Material  and  Personal,  but  it  is  the 
Personal  that  is  at  the  recognition  stage;  the  Material 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  239 

memory  may  have  gone  farther,  or  (theoretically)  not 
so  far. 

No  doubt  a  great  deal  of  what  has  been  considered 
under  the  head  of  the  Practical-Personal  might  well 
have  been  treated  here.  It  is  certain  that  the  phe- 
nomena of  sex  and  especially  of  friendship  are  little 
or  not  at  all  developed  in  animals  without  recognition. 
Nevertheless,  the  fundamental  likes  and  dislikes 
underlying  these  situations  demand  no  experience, 
and  it  is  well  to  keep  that  clear  if  possible. 

It  remains  to  be  said  now  that  friendship,  in  so  far 
as  it  is  a  lasting  state,  of  course  demands  recognition. 
The  Personal  liking  aroused  at  one  meeting  with  the 
friend  must  be  and  is  increased  and  made  sure  by 
subsequent  meetings,  and  a  settled  relation  arises. 
Thus,  the  Personal  impulse  in  friendship  comes  to 
be  satisfied  by  intimacy  or  association,  with  or  with- 
out more  distinctly  sexual  details,  and  this  habit  of 
seeking  and  being  intimate  becomes  the  most  char- 
acteristic phenomenon  of  the  state. 

Similarly,  love  is  joined  with  recognition  and, 
thence,  a  constant  repetition  of  meeting  and  intimacy. 
A  rebuffed  state  in  the  suitor,  also,  may  last  much 
longer  than  is  possible  without  memory,  and  thence 
arise  the  more  elaborate  forms  of  courtship,  as  it  is 
called,  found  among  many  of  the  higher  animals. 

Rivalry,  on  the  other  hand,  though  arising  out  of  an 
elemental  impulse,  depends  for  its  development  much 
more  largely  upon  recognition  memory;  since  the 
suitors  pay  attention  to  each  other  often  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  the  mate  who  is  the  cause  of  the  rivalry. 


240  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

We  will  therefore  run  over  that  situation  somewhat 
more  in  detail  at  this  point. 

The  relation  of  the  rivals  may  have  such  names  as 
antagonism,  hostility,  enmity,  or  hatred. 

The  most  general  words  for  the  unsatisfied  impulse 
in  both  are  envy  and  jealousy. 

The  growing  negative  impulse  of  one  rival  toward 
the  other  may  be  called  impatience,  vexation,  ex- 
asperation, temper,  anger,  rage,  fury,  and  the  like. 
These  precede  actual  violence  and  also  accompany  it. 

The  aptitude  for  Personal  fighting  may  be  called 
combativeness,  pugnacity,  and  the  like.  Individuals 
in  whom  the  instinct  is  thus  strong  may  be  said  to 
possess  bravery,  courage,  valor,  daring,  rashness, 
impetuosity,  intrepidity,  temerity,  venturesome- 
ness,  dauntlessness,  indomitableness,  or  the  like. 

In  animals  that  do  not  fight,  the  evolutions  gone 
through  with  by  rivals  are  for  the  most  part  without 
name  but  are  in  some  cases  called  dances.  Among 
fighting  animals  there  is  usually  a  certain  amount  of 
preliminary  flourish  (really  the  most  purely  Personal 
part  of  the  affair)  which  may  be  called  challenge, 
defiance,  or,  if  successful,  intimidation. 

Some  names  for  contestants  of  the  Personal  type 
are  (for  the  winner)  victor,  conqueror,  champion, 
hero,  bully;  (for  the  loser)  coward,  craven,  skulker, 
and  the  like. 

The  action  in  defeat  may  be  either  flight  or  cring- 
ing, or,  as  in  man,  lying  down,  prostrating  oneself, 
or  (symbolically)  kneeling.  (All  these  are  done  be- 
cause the  defeated  individual  has  the  opposite  impulse 


THE   PERSONAL  INSTINCT  241 

from  that  of  standing  over  his  opponent.)  The 
voice  may  be  affected  to  whining. 

One  conflict  does  not  always  settle  the  dispute. 
If  the  vanquished  rival  begins  a  second  fight,  the 
state  of  his  mind,  being  impulse  plus  recognition- 
memory  and  pain,  may  be  called  a  spirit  of  revenge, 
retaliation,  spite,  vindictiveness,  and  the  like. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  attacks  of  the  victor  may  be 
renewed  as  often  as  the  vanquished  comes  within 
range,  or  may  be  continued  until  the  result  is  the 
death  of  the  vanquished,  after  which  the  victor  may 
even  worry  the  remains  until  he  tires  or  the  remains 
are  unrecognizable  as  a  Personality.  The  Social 
instinct  looks  upon  such  acts  with  disapproval,  and 
this  form  of  the  Personal  impulse  (and  it  is  perhaps 
the  only  unmixed  form)  is  called  by  such  names  as 
harshness,  cruelty,  venomousness,  and  vindictiveness. 

If,  however  (the  fight  having  been  fought  and  the 
Personal  impulse  of  the  victor  having  been  partially 
satisfied),  the  Social  impulse  becomes  strong  enough 
to  have  its  influence,  the  victor  may  cease  his  attacks 
upon  the  vanquished,  if  the  vanquished  keeps  his 
humble  position.  In  such  a  case  the  behavior  and 
feeling  of  the  victor  is  called  mercy,  generosity,  pity, 
forbearance,  magnanimity,  and  the  like.  Evidently 
this  state  is  easier  for  the  victor  than  for  the  van- 
quished, whose  Personal  impulse  is  still  unsatisfied 
and  usually  rankles  more  or  less  in  memory. 

It  is  to  be  held  in  mind  that  the  situation  we  call 
rivalry  may  arise  not  only  between  males,  but  quite 
as  well  between  females;  and  not  only  in  cases  of  sex 


242  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

but  quite  as  well  in  cases  of  friendship.  Neverthe- 
less the  most  common  cases  are  those  between  males, 
and  have  to  do  with  the  Personal  instinct  of  sex. 

An  important  broadening  of  the  situation  occurs 
in  many  animals  during  the  rutting  season.  Any 
opposition,  or  show  of  opposition  at  this  time — and 
sometimes  throughout  the  year — is  likely  to  be  taken 
by  these  animals  as  a  Personal  interference,  and  the 
situation  of  rivalry  takes  place.  This  may  happen 
between  males  when  the  females  are  not  present;  it 
may  happen  between  females  when  the  males  are  not 
present;  it  may  happen  between  males  and  females, 
as  when  a  cow  fights  the  bull  for  leadership  in  the 
herd;  it  may  happen  between  animals  of  different 
species,  as  when  bulls  attack  man.  In  such  cases 
the  Personal  instinct  may  be  called  the  domineering 
or  bullying  impulse.  Men  of  the  strongly  Personal 
type  ordinarily  show  this  side  clearly,  and  will  stand 
no  interference  of  any  sort  on  any  subject.  They  will 
even  kick  the  stone  they  have  stumbled  over. 

The  pleasure  after  success,  whether  in  a  positive 
Personal  approach  or  in  a  strife  of  rivalry,  is  called 
by  names  already  given,  but  we  may  note  here  the 
special  element,  coming  through  memory,  of  pride 
or  vanity.  This  is  regularly  accompanied  by  such 
overflow  actions  as  may  fall  under  the  general  terms 
glorying  or  triumphing.  Cocks  crow,  elephants 
trumpet,  many  animals  bellow  or  roar,  men  shout  or 
laugh.  Other  words  used  are  exultation,  gloating, 
pluming,  swaggering,  flaunting,  flourishing,  and  the 
like. 


THE   PERSONAL   INSTINCT  243 

The  pain  after  defeat  may  be  chagrin,  shame,  mor- 
tification, humiliation,  discomfiture,  sting,  and  the 
like.  In  memory  there  may  be  the  additional  words 
sulkiness,  or  spite,  grudge-bearing,  and  the  like.  If 
there  be  a  clear  memory,  the  memory  is  said  to  rankle. 
A  hopeless  defeat  may  give  the  pain  called  discour- 
agement. All  these  are  Personal  states. 

THE   THOUGHT-PERSONAL    INSTINCT 

The  Thought-Personal  instinct  is  the  Personal  in- 
stinct carrying  on  trains  of  thought  independently  of 
actual  sensations,  though  often  or  even  regularly  at 
the  suggestion  of  such  sensations.  This  grade  of  the 
instinct  may  be  regarded,  for  our  purposes,  as  con- 
fined to  man.  Some  degree  of  it,  however,  probably 
exists  also  among  the  higher  animals. 

As  in  the  case  of  the  other  grades  of  the  Personal, 
so  here,  the  Thought-Personal  rests  to  a  large  extent 
upon  the  Thought-Material,  affecting  it  and  using  it 
and  apparently  adding  to  it,  in  characteristic  ways. 
This  may  be  taken  for  granted. 

The  simplest  forms  of  the  Thought-Personal  in- 
stinct will  evidently  result  in  memories  of  actual  past 
experiences.  These,  however,  result  at  once  in 
definite  Personal  desires,  likes,  dislikes,  loves,  and 
hates.  The  field  of  human  Personal  passion  is  thus 
made  firm  and  definite. 

Experience  will  accumulate,  also,  with  resultant 
definite  plans  and  methods  of  action.  Courtship 
becomes  definitely  reasonable  in  part,  and  the  con- 
tests of  antagonists  result  in  the  elaborately  skilful 


244  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

phenomena  of  duelling  and  single  combats,  with 
various  arms. 

In  these,  as  in  other  reasoned  combats,  it  is  to  be 
noticed  that  there  is  a  contest  not  merely  of  Personal 
influence  and  physical  strength,  but  also  of  skill  and 
wits.  Hence  it  becomes  a  distinctly  Personal  triumph 
to  outwit  an  opponent  or  rival,  and  such  a  mental 
victory  may  result  in  as  much  satisfaction  as  any  other 
kind.  Outwitting  may  be  merely  skill,  or  it  may  take 
the  forms  of  artifice,  strategy,  ruse,  trickery,  treach- 
ery, wiliness,  unfairness,  and  the  like.  Poisoning 
and  assassination  may  come  under  this  general  head. 
It  is  to  be  recollected,  here  as  elsewhere,  that  the 
Personal  instinct  knows  nothing  of  morals  or  sym- 
pathy; it  seeks  merely  a  victory,  and  uses  all  means 
freely.  Hence  its  dictum  that,  "All's  fair  in  love 
and  war." 

The  inventions  of  the  Personal  instinct  are  numer- 
ous. It  likes  to  try  its  wits  against  all  sorts  of  obsta- 
cles, and  finds  a  keen  pleasure  in  every  sort  of  out- 
witting, whether  of  an  actual  Personal  rival  or  of  any 
other  opponent.  Thus,  it  is  the  motive  power  in 
hunting,  fishing,  and  the  like,  when  these  are  pursued 
as  sport;  and  it  is  regularly  found  in  men  who  explore 
new  countries  or  the  frozen  regions  about  the  poles. 
The  difficulties  in  such  occupations  or  diversions 
appeal  to  their  imagination.  Similarly,  inventors 
are  not  infrequently  of  the  Personal  type — men  with 
no  great  Material  (scientific)  sense  or  conception  of 
laws  or  facts,  but  with  a  fiery  desire  to  do  some 
striking  or  difficult  or  impossible  thing. 


THE   PERSONAL   INSTINCT  245 

Experience  and  thought  along  Personal  lines  re- 
sults in  Personal  prudence,  self-restraint,  self-control, 
and  the  like. 

It  should  be  noted,  however,  that  Personal  prudence 
and  self-control  are  very  different  from  the  Material 
and  Social  forms.  The  Personal  instinct,  like  the 
others,  regards  only  its  own  ends,  and  has  no  care 
or  interest  for  the  other  instincts,  which  it  often  goes 
against — though  it  may,  for  its  own  purposes,  use 
them  reasonably.  It  thus  often  incurs  their  positive 
disapproval.  Thus,  those  in  whom  the  Personal 
instinct  is  strong  and  in  whom  the  other  instincts  are 
weak  may  be  called  idle  and  loafing,  though  they 
are  active  enough  in  their  own  Personal  way;  or 
they  may  be  frivolous,  capricious,  or  trivial,  though 
good  thinkers  in  Personal  matters;  or,  in  their 
manner  of  spending,  for  Personal  ends,  which  seems 
to  the  other  instincts  useless,  they  may  be  extrava- 
gant, wasteful,  and  squandering.  Moreover,  as  they 
have  no  interest  in  property  except  as  a  show  (/.  e.y 
for  Personal  ends),  they  are  regularly  careless  and 
improvident.  So,  also,  with  no  sense  of  home,  they 
may  be  adventurers  (in  search,  more  or  less  conscious- 
ly, of  Personal  satisfactions),  tramps,  vagabonds, 
Bohemians,  rovers,  and  the  like. 

If  not  regulated  by  the  Social  instinct,  or  by  pru- 
dence, such  characters  are  often  morally  (Socially) 
objectionable.  They  are  not  only  deserving  of  the 
above  epithets,  which  are  also  Social  in  part,  but  they 
are  licentious,  lascivious,  lewd,  wanton,  obscene, 
prurient,  and  the  like. 


fi 


246 


A  THEORY  OF  MIND 


As  the  Personal  lacks  Material  and  Social  self- 
control,  and  the  Social  sense  of  responsibility  and 
decency,  it  may  yield  freely  to  all  habits  which  civil- 
ized man  has  discovered  to  be  bad  and  unwise.  It  is 
thus  almost  regularly  the  one  given  to  strong  drink, 
tobacco,  and  sexual  vices.  Those  in  whom  the 
instinct  prevails  only  occasionally  are  said  to  go  on 
sprees.  Some  of  this  addiction  to  bad  habits  lies  in 
the  positive  Personal  attractiveness  of  the  habits,  but 
there  is  not  infrequently  also  a  real  hostility  felt  by 
the  Personal  individual  toward  the  attempted  con- 
trol of  the  other  instincts — which  he  feels  little  or 
no  sympathy  or  interest  toward.  He  considers  it 
humiliating  to  endure  any  sort  of  control — unless  for 
Personal  reasons,  as  when  a  man  will  stop  drinking 
to  please  and  win  the  affections  of  some  girl  or  woman. 
(It  may  be  well  to  note  here  that  gambling  is  even 
more  Personal  than  drink.  The  consideration  of  it, 
however,  will  come  in  more  suitably  at  a  future 
point.) 

The  feeling  of  the  Personal  toward  the  other  in- 
stincts may  be  expressed  in  such  words  as  boring, 
dry,  flat,  stale,  tame,  tiresome,  trite,  cold,  bloodless, 
and  the  like,  all  of  which  usually  denote  merely  the 
lack  of  Personal  interest  and  charm. 

Certain  important  details  and  qualities  of  Personal 
thought  still  remain  to  be  considered.  To  consider 
them,  however,  we  begin  somewhat  elementally. 

The  Personal  instinct  regards  (and  therefore  re- 
members and  classifies)  everything  as  either  attractive 
or  unattractive,  useful  or  useless,  to  it.  It  is  inter- 


THE   PERSONAL  INSTINCT  247 

ested,  as  we  have  said,  exclusively  in  its  own  satisfac- 
tion, and  its  thought  and  invention  and  ingenuity  are 
all  directed  to  this  one  end.  Evidently  its  point  of 
view  differs  fundamentally  from  that  of  the  Material 
and  Social  instincts,  and  its  classification  of  phe- 
nomena in  memory  as  well  as  its  use  of  the  memories 
so  classified  must  be  characteristic  and  quite  different. 
And  this  is  the  case.  From  the  Material  and  Social 
points  of  view,  the  Personal  is  often  as  crazy  in 
thought  as  it  is  in  action. 

It  is  important  to  notice,  also,  that  the  world  is 
not  constructed  and  does  not  advance  along  the  lines 
of  the  Personal  idea.  It  is  the  Material  and  the 
Social  that  build  and  advance  the  world,  the  Personal 
being  a  sort  of  by-play.  It  follows,  therefore,  and  it 
is  so  in  fact,  that  the  classifications  and  reasonings 
of  the  Personal  mind  are  of  no  Social  or  scientific 
(Material)  value.  They  shed  no  light  on  the  world's 
laws,  except  in  so  far  as  they  explain  the  behavior 
of  animals  having  the  Personal  instinct.  ,Thus,  men 
of  the  strongly  Personal  type  are  not  intellectually 
constructive  in  the  ordinary  sense.  The  facts  of 
science  and  of  society  do  not  fit  with  their  style  of 
classification,  and  they  are  quite  at  sea  in  any  novel 
situation  in  practical  affairs. 

It  may  not  be  amiss  to  illustrate  this  in  part. 
FalstafF  in  telling  his  famous  lying  story  says,  at  one 
time  or  another,  "If  this  is  not  true  I  am  a  shotten 
herring — a  rogue — an  Ebrew  Jew — a  bunch  of  rad- 
ish— a  horse  ('call  me  horse') — a  villain."  In  his 
memory  these  persons  and  objects  are  classified 


248  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

together  as  Personally  disagreeable.  When  he  wishes 
to  make  a  "low  comparison"  these  are  the  things  that 
occur  to  him  successively.  From  the  Material  or 
Social  point  of  view  nothing  could  be  more  disorderly 
and  wild. 

Thus,  also,  the  positive  Personal  will  find  that  a 
rose  or  a  carnation  brings  up  the  thought  of  a  beau- 
tiful woman;  the  oak  of  a  strong  man;  the  brook, 
dancing  and  sparkling,  of  a  girl;  and  the  mountain 
of  a  frowning  giant.  This  way  of  looking  at  things 
,  can  lead  to  nothing  useful  or  constructive./ Similarly, 
the  man  who  lets  his  Personal  likes  and  dislikes  de- 
termine his  Social  acts — who  will  vote  for  one  man 
merely  because  he  likes  him,  or  against  another^ 
merely  to  harm  him,  or  who  can  ask,  "What's  the 
Constitution  between  friends?" — such  a  man  thinks 
and  talks  nonsense  from  the  Social  point  of  view. 
His  classifications  and  reasonings  cannot  be  Socially 
useful  or  constructive. 

But,  although  the  Thought-Personal  instinct  re- 
sults in  classifications  and  inventions  that  are  of  no 
value  as  clews  to  the  Material  world  or  to  Social 
relations,  these  classifications  and  inventions  are 
useful  and  valid  in  the  field  of  Personal  relations, 
and  we  will  now  consider  them  somewhat. 

The  simplest  classification  is  probably  into  the  at- 
tractive and  the  unattractive  objects,  but  this,  in 
man,  becomes  far  more  complex.  We  may  notice, 
for  instance,  the  various  names  it  has  for  the  impulse 
itself — love,  lust,  lasciviousness,  concupiscence,  amor- 
ousness— friendliness,  amicableness,  affection,  fond- 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  249 

ness,  attachment— esteem,  regard,  admiration,  devo- 
tion, infatuation,  adoration. 

So,  also,  the  Thought-Personal  sorts  out  the  var- 
ious attractive  influences  and  names  them,  as,  e.  g.y 
charm,  personality,  magnetism,  geniality,  fascination, 
attractiveness,  allurement,  amiability,  beauty,  sweet- 
ness, prettiness,  handsomeness;  and,  as  more 
distinctly  active,  grace,  archness,  winsomeness, 
daintiness,  piquancy.  Individuals  may  be  pleasing, 
fair,  exquisite,  captivating,  demure,  provoking,  ap- 
pealing, and  the  like.  These  are  in  addition  to  the 
many  words  already  given.  Most  of  them  can  be 
made  negative,  and  there  are  also  negative  words, 
as  ugly,  repellent,  and  the  like. 

Moreover,  besides  these  simpler  classifications,  the 
reasoning  about  matters  of  love  and  friendship  and 
about  the  Personal  situations  in  life — and  they  are 
very  numerous — is  all  under  the  guiding  interest 
of  the  Personal  instinct.  Evidently  such  thought, 
however  abstract,  can  cover  no  such  range  and  result 
in  no  such  elaborate  systems  and  theories  as  the 
thought  of  the  other  two  instincts;  nevertheless, 
within  its  range,  it  may  be  extraordinarily  keen  and 
complex,  and  it  is  undoubtedly  of  immense  value— 
and  is  perhaps  indispensable — in  successful  practical 
life. 

Before  considering  the  further  forms  of  our  instinct, 
we  must  give  a  word  to  the  consideration  of  language. 
The  relationships  of  one  mind  to  another  in  actual 
life  are  very  largely  carried  on  through  speech. 
Speech,  however,  demands  sympathy,  which  is 


250  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Social.  Thus  the  Personal  relations  of  men  to  each 
other  come  to  depend  upon  this  Social  instrument. 
Nevertheless,  certain  resulting  situations  may  well 
have  a  place  in  this  chapter,  since,  except  for  their 
dependence  upon  language,  they  belong  purely  to 
the  Personal  instinct. 

The  instinct  in  these  cases  is  satisfied  by  winning 
liking  or  conquering  rivals,  wholly  or  in  part  without 
the  ordinary  physical  means.  Language  is  made  to 
take  the  place  of  actions  of  courtship  or  of  violence, 
and  the  loved  one  (mate  or  friend),  or  the  rival, 
through  sympathy,  takes  the  word  for  the  action. 

The  most  general  effect  of  the  Personal  impulse 
upon  speech  is,  of  course,  physical  in  part,  namely, 
its  effect  upon  tones.  Nothing  is  more  noticeable 
than  the  tones  of  those  in  love,  whether  it  be  of  a  man 
or  of  a  woman  or  of  certain  mothers  toward  their 
children  (crooning).  It  is  usually  wonderfully  sweet 
and  attractive  even  in  individuals  who  have  ordinarily 
voices  that  are  harsh.  On  the  other  hand,  the  voice 
of  the  obstructed  instinct,  harsh  and  rough  and  com- 
monly loud,  is  equally  pronounced  and  character- 
istic. Other  tones  are  also  recognizable,  e.  g.,  those 
of  pride,  glorying,  envy,  or  defeat;  and  it  may  fairly 
be  questioned  whether  the  tone  of  voice  in  any 
purely  Personal  conversation  is  not  of  far  more  value 
than  anything  that  may  be  said. 

Showiness  of  speech  and  thought  is  also  distinctly 
Personal,  and  is  a  repetition  of  what  was  noticed  in 
the  Extra-Personal  instinct.  This  tendency  may 
take  the  simple  forms  of  swearing,  bombast,  pro- 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  251 

fusion,  turgidity,  floweriness,  rhapsody,  and  the  like, 
but  it  may  also  be  far  more  subtle  and  elaborate, 
as  in  some  of  the  great  poets.  Not  only  so,  but  all 
the  arts  are  affected  by  it  in  their  modes  of  expression, 
whether  these  be  through  words,  sounds,  colors, 
forms,  or  tastes.  Signs  of  it  are  to  found  in  the  style 
of  almost,  if  not  quite  every,  artist,  great  or  small. 
Of  course,  such  showiness  may  be  largely  a  matter  of 
fashion  or  imitation,  but  it  may  also  be  thoroughly 
sincere,  and  the  result  of  years  of  selection  and 
invention. 

The  approach  of  a  suitor  to  a  mate  may  be  ac- 
companied by  language,  the  words  expressing  the 
feelings  of  the  suitor  or  the  acts  he  would  like  to 
perform.  These  mental  kisses  are  called  by  such 
words  as  flattery,  compliment,  adulation,  blandish- 
ment, cajoling,  enticement,  entreaty,  gallantry,  and 
the  like.  Experience  and  reason  may  bring  them 
to  the  condition  of  carefully  calculated  means  for 
arousing  the  desired  Personal  feeling.  Approaches 
of  the  merely  reasoning  sort  may  be  called  coquetting 
or  flirting.  Not  infrequently  such  wooing  is  carried 
on  out  of  mere  Personal  curiosity  or  as  a  pastime, 
i.  e.y  for  lack  of  something  Personally  better  or  more 
serious.  In  these  cases,  and  also  in  cases  of  mere 
reason  and  coyness,  the  behavior  of  the  one  wooed 
may  become  impossible  to  interpret.  The  hostile 
or  coy  or  reasoned  acts  may  be  named  capriciousness, 
freakishness,  waywardness,  wilfulness,  roguishness, 
tantalization,  teazing,  artfulness,  changeableness,  and 
the  like.  As  the  impulses  are  in  themselves  uncon- 


252  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

scious,  and  as  women  often  make  no  real  attempt  to 
solve  their  own  states  of  mind,  it  is  often  quite  im- 
possible for  even  the  capricious  and  teasing  woman 
herself  to  say  why  she  is  so — whether  she  dislikes,  is 
coy,  is  seeking  excitement,  or  is  curious.  To  the 
suitor  the  behavior  is  likely  to  be  entirely  baffling, 
though  he  may  discover  the  lady's  frame  of  mind 
before  she  does  herself.  This  field  is  a  constant  and 
unfailing  mine  for  the  novelist  and  playwright. 

The  positive  Personal  quality  in  speech  may  take 
the  forms  of  cordiality,  joviality,  effusiveness,  gush, 
volubility,  garrulity,  loquacity,  and  the  like,  corre- 
sponding to  the  physical  acts  of  smiling,  radiance,  or 
laughter,  and  usually  accompanied  by  them.  If  the 
Personal  impulse  is  stronger,  the  Material  and 
Social  factors  are  thrown  into  confusion  and  we  have 
incoherence,  stammering,  speechlessness,  and  the 
like.  These  confused  states  may  also  be  brought 
about  by  fear,  and  the  form  of  fear  called  coyness. 
In  the  latter  case  they  may  be  accompanied  by 
blushing,  giggling,  and  the  like. 

The  negative  Thought-Personal  impulse  may  take 
the  forms  of  active  attack,  but  it  may  behave  in 
special  ways,  and  it  has  certain  special  names.  The 
impulse  itself  may  be  called  unfriendliness,  etc., 
but  also  may  be  contempt,  disdain,  despising,  and  the 
like.  Its  simplest  acts  may  be  called  avoidance,  or 
ignoring,  with  such  partial  forms  of  these  as  chilliness, 
superciliousness,  and  haughtiness. 

If  rivals  fight  it  out  with  language,  the  language 
often  differs  in  only  slight  respects  from  ordinary 


THE   PERSONAL   INSTINCT  253 

speech,  and  represents  action  and  may  easily  turn 
into  it.  Such  a  wordy  fight  may  be  called  by  such 
names  as  quarrel,  altercation,  wrangle,  brawl,  or 
dispute. 

The  acts  in  the  struggle  may  be  abuse,  insult,  af- 
front, threat,  railing,  bluster,  slur,  snub,  sneer,  scorn, 
flout,  and  the  like,  all  of  which  are  intended  to  beat 
down  the  opponent  and  force  him  to  retire  in  con- 
fusion and  speechlessness.  Their  force  may  rest 
on  their  references  to  past  or  to  future  actions,  or  on 
the  display  they  make  of  strong  negative  Personal 
impulse.  The  tones  of  voice  and  gesticulations,  and 
the  Personally  disagreeable  comparisons  in  them,  are 
the  ordinary  means  of  producing  the  latter  impression. 
Individuals  of  the  Personal  type  often  have  a  con- 
siderable fluency  in  Personal  words  and  thoughts, 
and  there  are  many  men  and  women  who  are  utterly 
discomfited  and  put  to  flight  by  them. 

A  very  characteristically  Personal  occurrence  in 
angry  speech  is  the  use  of  exclamations  and  words  that 
have  no  meaning,  but  convey  the  force  and  influence 
of  the  negative  impulse.  Such  are  the  various  so- 
called  oaths  and  curses,  together  with  swearing, 
obscenity,  and  the  like.  The  Personal  impulse  is 
too  hot  and  impatient  oftentimes  in  these  cases  to 
wait  for  Material  or  Social  mental  help,  and  makes 
itself  understood  chiefly  by  tones. 

Personal  verbal  attacks  are  not  infrequently  un- 
fair, etc.  Some  of  the  special  forms  of  this  sort  of 
fighting  may  be  exaggeration,  speciousness,  imperti- 
nence, casuistry,  sophistry,  dogmatism,  and  the  like, 


254  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

—all  used  by  those  who  wish  to  win,  regardless  of 
Social  or  Material  considerations. 

If  there  is  no  real  strength  or  proved  strength  in 
one  of  the  opponents,  the  other  may  slur  his  resistance 
by  calling  it  audacity,  insolence,  pertness,  presump- 
tion, sauciness,  smartness,  impertinence,  and  the 
like.  These  words  all  contain  a  negative  Personal 
force,  and  may  be  used  effectively  in  abuse. 

Joined  with  a  considerable  flexibility  of  mind, 
slurs  may  take  the  form  of  airiness,  capriciousness, 
flightiness,  waywardness,  and  the  like,  by  which 
lighter,  disdainful  minds  may  fairly  put  to  confusion 
those  that  are  more  cumbersome. 

Many  Personal  adjectives  are  used  of  individuals 
and  of  verbal  attacks  coming  under  this  general  head. 
Some  of  them  are  as  follows:  imperious,  arrogant, 
aggressive,  domineering,  captious,  choleric,  conten- 
tious, cross,  crusty,  carping,  brusque,  harsh,  gruff, 
peremptory,  truculent,  disputatious,  dogmatic,  posi- 
tive, opinionated,  abrupt,  tart,  stormy,  cavalier  (adj.), 
hectoring,  irascible,  irritable,  testy,  touchy,  acid, 
bitter,  virulent,  peevish,  pettish,  querulous,  self- 
willed,  selfish  (this  is  its  most  ordinary  sense), 
shrewish,  vixenish,  termagant,  and  no  doubt  many 
more.  All  are,  or  may  be,  strictly  Personal.  It  may 
be  noted  that  some  of  these  adjectives  carry  with  them 
distinctly  the  implication  of  ill-health.  This  may  be 
due  to  the  lessening  of  Social  responsibility  which 
usually  occurs  in  those  in  Material  suffering.  Without 
the  Social  sense,  the  Personal  would  keep  us  all  at 
swords'  points,  even  (most  of  the  time)  lovers.  Men 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  255 

and  women  who  are  very  strongly  of  the  Personal 
type  exemplify  this  to  us  every  day. 

In  case  of  victory  the  pleased  state  of  mind  may 
be  vanity,  or  complacency,  or,  as  a  mood,  conceit, 
self-esteem,  and  what  is  usually  called  self-respect. 

The  overflow  acts  of  glorying  are,  as  in  physical 
victory,  laughter,  shouting,  hooting,  and  the  like,  but 
with  the  added  language-element  of  jeers,  gibes, 
derision,  taunting,  mockery,  and  the  like;  and,  in 
memory,  bragging,  bravado,  boastfulness,  vaunting, 
and  the  like. 

The  defeated  states  may  be  moroseness,  moodi- 
ness,  sulkiness,  bile,  and  the  ordinary  ones  of  humili- 
ation, shame,  and  the  like.  The  commonest  action 
in  defeat  is  keeping  silence. 

We  note,  finally,  a  slighter  case  in  which  the 
Personal  instinct  influences  thought.  In  thinking, 
namely,  this  impulse  may  be  active,  and  the  thinker 
may  be  restive  and  impatient  at  the  obstacles  in  his 
thought.  This  rebelliousness  at  restraint  (which  is 
always  characteristic  of  the  Personal  type)  if  not  too 
strong  may  result  well  and  be  called  initiative.  The 
solid  strength  of  the  other  instincts  would  doubtless 
be  better  and  surer,  but  the  Personal  often  gives  a 
helpful  push.  The  general  situation  may  perhaps  be 
compared  with  the  kicking  of  a  physical  obstruction, 
mentioned  under  the  Recognition-Personal. 

We  note  once  more,  in  closing,  that  the  Personal 
instinct  is  neither  moral  nor  immoral  (Social)  in 
itself.  Nevertheless,  as  it  exists  between  and  con- 


256  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

cerns  two  individuals  who  are  commonly  members 
of  society,  it  cannot  but  have  abundant  moral  rela- 
tions. These  relations  it  is  quite  as  apt  to  disregard 
as  to  regard,  so  that  (as  the  Personal  instinct  is  the 
most  demonstrative  we  have,  and  the  source  of  all 
the  charm  and  grace  and  love  and  laughter  of  life) 
it  is,  Socially,  the  most  treacherous  part  of  our  nature. 
Most  of  the  strictures  of  the  moralists  are  directed 
against  it,  and  there  is  a  constant  inclination  in 
religions  and  morals  to  crush  it  altogether  as  a 
distinct  'enemy  of  goodness.  It  is  found  to  be  as 
seductive  as  it  is  non-moral.  Few  in  actual  life  can 
refuse  to  pardon — or  condone  with — or  can  even 
resist  the  fascinations  of — the  charming  sinner. 
Even  the  saints  will  often  say,  "He  (or  she)  is  so 
charming,  so  gentle,  so  lovable,  so  generous,  so 
brave — when  he  wishes  to  be — that  there  must  be 
some  good  in  him";  whereas  there  is  not  the  faintest 
reason  in  the  world  why  there  must,  but  often  every 
presumption  to  the  contrary. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  no  essential  contradic- 
tion between  a  strong  Personal  and  a  strong  Social 
or  Material  impulse,  and  a  man  or  woman  may  be 
grossly  unchaste  and  intemperate  and  at  the  same 
time  not  only  very  charming  but  also  an  invaluable 
member  of  society — a  great  and  good  statesman  or 
novelist  or  scientist  or  ruler.  In  these  cases  the 
Social  or  Material  is  often  still  strong  enough  to  be 
effective  at  nearly  all  times  in  the  Thought  and  Ideal 
realms,  though  less  so  in  the  lower  ones;  and  no 
doubt  such  individuals  grow  to  increased  usefulness 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  257 

as  age  succeeds  in  dulling  somewhat  the  imperious- 
ness  of  the  Personal  side.  Nevertheless,  instances 
are  not  lacking  in  which  this  was  not  at  all  the  case. 

THE    IDEAL-PERSONAL    INSTINCT 

The  Ideal-Personal  instinct  is  concerned  with  the 
entire  satisfaction  of  the  Personal  impulse.  Since 
such  satisfaction  could  occur  only  by  a  union,  part 
with  part,  of  two  suitable  individuals,  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  each  individual,  and  since  this  union  does  not 
take  place  among  multicellular  animals,  it  is  evident 
that  the  satisfaction  cannot  be  complete.  In  cases 
of  true  love,  as  we  have  elsewhere  shown,  the  attrac- 
tiveness of  two  individuals  for  each  other  may  con- 
tinue indefinitely,  and  this  may  be  considered  the 
best  practical  solution  of  the  case,  supposing  that  the 
course  of  true  love  be  smooth.  Nevertheless,  the 
impulse  is  not  entirely  satisfied,  and  many  men  and 
women,  yielding  to  the  unsatisfied  yearning,  spend 
much  of  their  lives  seeking  satisfaction  in  other  ways, 
and  sometimes  in  unwise  ones.  A  considerable  per- 
centage of  the  people  of  the  world  are  doing  this 
more  or  less  intermittently. 

As  we  have  noted  before,  the  world  is  not  made 
according  to  the  Personal  idea,  nor  can  Personal  ideas 
long  prevail  in  it  without  its  destruction.  Social  and 
Material  ideas  are  the  only  constructive  and  useful 
ones.  Hence,  strongly  Personal  pleasures  and  pains 
and  situations  are  somewhat  apart  from  the  ordinary 
run  of  life  and  are  felt  so.  Those  who  follow  them 
are  often  said  to  break  loose.  The  Personal  field  is 


258  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

called  pleasure,  novelty,  adventure,  diversion,  and  the 
like.  The  essence  of  what  many  newspapers  think 
of  as  "news"  is  Personal.  It  is  this  that  makes  men 
like  to  read  of  daring  burglaries,  murders,  rapes, 
violence,  abuse  of  the  rich,  advice  to  the  lovelorn, 
and  the  like.  Yellow  journalism  is  almost  entirely 
Personal  in  its  appeal,  and  its  harm  to  its  readers 
is  in  the  fundamental  fact  that  the  Personal  way  of 
looking  at  things  is  not  and  never  can  be  constructive; 
on  the  contrary  it  is  always  rebellious  in  tone,  and  has 
no  real  sympathy  with  the  solid  virtues  through  which 
the  Material  and  Social  realms  stand. 

In  the  field  of  art,  the  Personal  element  has  played 
the  leading  role.  Art  is  fundamentally  of  Social 
origin,  and  it  demands  also  some  Material  aid, 
but  its  ruling  spirit  has  been  almost  exclusively  the 
Personal.  Love  and  intrigue  and  fighting  and  glory, 
beautiful  women  and  brave  men,  have  been  its  theme 
in  all  ages,  not  only  in  literature  and  song,  but  also 
in  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture.  And  not 
only  the  subject,  but  also  the  style  has  been  Personal. 
The  dreams  of  men  and  women  artists  have,  in  many 
respects,  surpassed  anything  actual  in  their  appeal 
to  the  Personal  impulse. 

We  come,  finally,  to  the  consideration  of  the  Per- 
sonal instinct  in  its  effects  upon  religion.  This  has 
been  far-reaching. 

The  likes  and  dislikes  of  the  Personal  instinct  may 
be  aroused  by  any  sensation  or  object,  and  this  may 
take  place  either  (apparently)  freakishly,  or  as  may 
be  decided  by  the  obstruction  or  apparent  friendliness 


THE  PERSONAL   INSTINCT  259 

of  the  object.  Thus  the  savage  may  like  the  axe  or 
arrow  with  which  he  has  done  execution,  or  he  may 
hate  the  thunder-cloud  or  like  the  sun,  etc.  And 
these  feelings  may  influence  the  mind  to  class  such 
relations  as  if  they  were  causative,  so  that  the  axe  or 
the  arrow  may  be  thought  of  as  possessing  pleasant 
or  hateful  powers  in  general.  Hence  this  instinct 
is  the  believer  in  talismans,  portents,  omens,  and  the 
like.  Such  beliefs  may  precede  any  definite  beliefs 
in  gods. 

When  the  Social  instinct  has  provided  the  mind 
with  the  thought  of  gods  or  of  spirits  in  human  like- 
ness, it  is  the  Personal  instinct,  that,  through  sym- 
pathy, gives  them  Personality.  It  fills  the  outer 
world  of  nature  with  spirits,  phantoms,  hobgoblins, 
fairies,  nymphs,  demons,  and  the  like;  and,  at  the 
present  day,  the  various  gods  having  gone,  holds  that 
its  one  God  is  Personal. 

In  all  cases  it  thinks  of  them  as  acting  wilfully 
and  according  to  likes  and  dislikes.  If  harm  comes, 
it  is  a  sign  of  a  god's  dislike,  and  the  Personal  type 
will  commonly  hate  in  return;  though  it  may  be 
humble  or  meek,  in  a  belief  that  the  act  was,  after 
all,  meant  to  be  loving.  If  the  chances  of  life  favor 
it,  this  instinct  ascribes  it  equally  to  a  loving  wilful- 
ness  that  has  singled  it  out  for  special  favors.  More- 
over, as  it  believes  in  Personal  spirits,  so  it  believes 
that  their  favor  can  be  won  like  the  favor  of  human 
minds — hence  prayers,  prostrations,  entreaties,  songs, 
praise,  and  the  like.  Those  who  do  harm  in  the 
world  have  also  their  deities — evil  Personalities — to 


260  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

be  roused  to  action  by  cursing,  witchcraft,  sorcery, 
conjuring,  spells,  or  magic;  or  to  be  driven  out  by 
exorcisms  of  various  sorts.  The  facts  of  nature  are 
thought  to  reveal  these  spirits  and  'their  characters 
and  intentions  through  presentiments,  dreams,  pre- 
sages, auguries,  premonitions,  or  even  through  direct 
revelations  and  prophecies,  sometimes  attested  by 
wilful  acts  called  miracles. 

In  a  word,  the  Personal  instinct  is  by  its  nature 
the  champion  of  disorder  in  our  view  of  things.  It 
sees  the  world  as  a  field  for  adventure — as  a  thing  of 
fortune,  luck,  mystery,  or  divine  favor — a  game,  with 
a  favorable  or  unfavorable  power  dealing  the  cards. 
It  is  thus  that  side  of  us  (and  most  of  us  have  felt 
some  of  it)  that  is  eagerly  superstitious — eager  to  get 
something  for  nothing — defiant  and  rebellious  against 
the  facts  and  laws  of  regularity  and  of  science.  It  is 
the  consulter  of  fraudulent  doctors,  soothsayers, 
clairvoyants,  weather-prophets,  and  the  like.  All 
these  things  are  constantly  going  on  and  will  go 
on,  probably  forever,  though  science  has  gradually 
eliminated  in  civilized  lands  the  worst  beliefs  and 
practices  whose  description  fills  some  of  the  most 
awful  pages  of  history,  and  whose  power  hangs  like 
a  nightmare  even  now  over  the  ignorant  of  Europe, 
Africa,  and  Asia. 

Christianity,  here  as  in  the  other  instincts,  has  gone 
farther  in  satisfying  the  human  heart,  than  any  other 
religion.  It  conceives  of  God  as  a  divine  lover  and 
friend — the  perfectly  satisfying  intimate  who  cannot 
be  found  in  earthly  experience.  Roman  and  Greek 


THE  PERSONAL  INSTINCT  261 

Catholicism  have  even  doubled  the  sex,  and  proposed 
not  merely  a  male,  but  also  a  female  divine  friend, 
besides  saints  of  both  sexes — a  refuge  for  those 
that  are  friendless  or  loveless  or  disappointed  in  the 
Personal  needs  of  life. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT 

THE  Social  is  that  instinct  of  the  mind  that  would 
be  satisfied  by  a  fusion  of  the  individual  mind  with 
one  or  more  others,  without,  however,  the  loss  of  the 
individual  existence  of  each.  Such  a  fusion  would 
result  in  an  organism  of  a  higher  grade  than  its  con- 
stituent units.  The  Social  union  is  thus  essentially 
different  from  the  Personal  merging,  which  results 
in  no  gain  in  the  grade  of  the  organism.  It  is,  how- 
ever, to  be  compared  in  every  detail  with  the  similar 
fusions  among  the  atoms,  molecules,  and  cells,  of 
which  it  is  a  repetition.  The  last  actual  fusion  of 
this  sort  is  that  of  the  cells,  which  fuse  without  loss 
of  their  individual  existences  to  form  the  multicellular 
plants  and  animals.  Between  the  multicellular 
plants  and  animals  the  Social  fusion  does  not  take 
place,  but  among  the  animals  (and,  though  less 
evidently,  the  plants)  the  instinct  is  present,  at  least 
temporarily,  in  all  species  and  results  in  character- 
istic influences  and  actions.  Its  entire  satisfaction, 
like  that  of  the  Personal  instinct,  is  evidently  im- 
possible. 

262 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  263 

The  Social  instinct  is  a  repetition  of  the  Material 
instinct.  What  the  Material  is  to  the  cell,  the  Social 
is  to  the  body.  Or,  what  the  Material  is  to  the  body 
(which  is  created  to  satisfy  it),  that  the  Social  instinct 
is  to  the  collection  of  individuals  that  occur  to  satisfy 
it.  Thus  all  the  coordination  and  mutual  support 
of  the  body  cells  will  have  its  counterpart,  its  repeti- 
tion, in  the  Social  collection,  and  what  we  there  con- 
sidered from  the  outside  (and  therefore  without  many 
details)  as  the  Body-Material,  will  here  become  the 
matter  of  prime  importance,  to  be  considered  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  members  of  the  fusion. 

It  is  to  be  noted  further  that  the  Material  and 
Social  instincts  work  naturally  together.  Both  are 
constructive  and  they  may  be  mutually  useful.  They 
are,  however,  absolutely  distinct,  the  Material  never 
interesting  itself  beyond  its  own  limits,  the  body,  and 
the  Social  confining  itself  to  its  Social  body. 

Neither  must  it  be  thought  that  the  Social  begins 
after  the  Material  has  ended — that  the  Social  is  in  any 
sense  dependent  upon  a  large  or  intricate  develop- 
ment of  the  Material,  e.  g.,  upon  brain  development. 
On  the  contrary,  it  exists  and  is  strong  in  many 
animals  of  no  apparent  brain  power  or  consciousness, 
and  is  often  almost  lacking  in  those  of  considerable 
development  in  memory  and  reason.  Undoubtedly 
its  highest  development  takes  place  with  the  highest 
Material  development,  namely,  in  man,  but  it  is 
distinctly  independent  of  consciousness,  or  reason, 
whether  Material,  Personal,  or  Social.  It  is  also  not 
caused  by  Material  vigor,  since  many  animals  of 


264  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

great  vigor  are  lacking  in  it.  Nevertheless,  since  the 
Material  has  priority  over  the  other  instincts,  weak- 
ness or  disease  (undermining  the  Material)  very 
regularly  undermine  the  Social. 

Socially  caused  unions  are  made  up  of  two  or  more 
individuals.  If  of  only  two  they  may  be  difficult  to 
distinguish  from  Personal  relations.  The  determin- 
ing test  is  whether  it  would  be  possible  for  a  perfectly 
suitable  third  individual  to  enter  the  unit. 

Names  for  some  of  the  Social  units  are  family, 
herd,  tribe,  nation,  mob,  or,  more  generally,  organ- 
ization. Special  names  are  very  numerous.  It  will 
be  noticed  that  those  here  given  differ  greatly  in  their 
Social  phenomena.  The  contrast,  for  instance,  be- 
tween a  family  and  a  mob  is  likely  to  be  extreme. 
In  considering  the  Social  instinct,  we  will  not,  there- 
fore, attempt  completeness  at  once,  but  in  the  present 
chapter  will  discuss  the  instinct  in  general,  very 
much  as  the  Material  and  Personal  have  already 
been  discussed.  The  special  traits  and  relations  of 
some  of  the  Social  units  will  then  form  matter  for 
another  chapter. 

THE    BODY-SOCIAL    INSTINCT 

Under  the  Body-Social  instinct  we  will  consider 
those  body-forms  which  are  due  to  the  influence  of 
the  Social  impulse.  It  might  well  be  supposed  that 
there  would  be  no  Body-Social  instinct,  since  the  body 
is  not  a  Social  unit.  However,  as  the  Body-Material 
instinct  had  effects  upon  the  cells  and  even  upon  the 
lesser  units,  so  the  Social  instinct  is  retrogressive  in 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  265 

action  and  has  its  influence  in  all  the  leaser  units. 
It  is  this  influence  that  we  will  here  consider. 

The  Social  unit  is  a  group  of  multicellular  organ- 
isms. Any  Social  factor  must  be  one  which  concerns 
this  group,  and  is  without  Material  or  Personal 
significance  in  the  individuals  taken  singly.  We  shall 
therefore  consider  here  such  body  structures  as  have 
no  meaning  except  as  they  are  considered  in  relation 
to  other  organisms  of  the  group,  which  on  their 
side  must  show  complementary  structures.  Such 
structures  exist  only  in  the  family  group,  and  are 
those  of  sex  and  reproduction.  In  considering  tiiese 
structures  and  characters,  no  sense  is  discovered  until 
the  individuals  are  viewed  in  groups.  Each  individ- 
ual organism  is  incomplete  in  itself,  and  implies 
others.  The  members  of  the  group,  however,  com- 
plete each  other  mutually,  and  taken  together  form 
a  complete  unit  of  mutually  dependent  parts. 

Two  questions  of  importance  to  us  arise  in  con- 
sidering this  phenomenon:  The  first  is  as  to  the 
origin  of  the  sexes,  i.  e.,  as  to  the  force  which  causes 
species  to  split  up  into  two  or  more  kinds.  This  we 
shall  not  be  able  to  answer  definitely.  The  second 
is  as  to  the  reproductive  organs  and  actions  of  the 
individuals  of  the  unit.  This  we  shall  answer  by 
holding  that  they  are  the  product  of  the  influence  of 
the  Social  instinct. 

First,  then,  as  to  the  origin  of  the  sexes. 

All  the  higher  animals  divide  into  sexes,  and  these 
sexes  are  mutually  complementary,  the  individuals 
of  the  various  sexes  together  forming  the  family  unit. 


266 


A  THEORY  OF  MIND 


9 


We  shall  here  use  the  word  sex  in  a  broader  sense 
than  is  customary,  namely,  to  include  all  the  dis- 
tinctly different  sorts  of  organisms  which  imply  one 
another  mutually  in  the  family.  We  exclude,  how- 
ever, the  young,  who  are  not  to  be  reckoned  a  sex  in 
themselves. 

In  considering  questions  concerning  the  sexes,  it 
is  to  be  noted,  first  of  all,  that  sex  is  not  inherited  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  that  word.  We  may  inherit  a 
shape  of  head  or  leg,  a  color  of  hair  or  eyes  or  skin, 
a  temper  or  a  power  of  memory  or  of  reason;  but 
sex  is  no  such  thing.  A  fertilized  ovum,  in  most 
animals,  carries  in  it  the  potentialities  of  two  sexes, 
and  whether  it  is  to  develop  as  a  male  or  as  a  female 
may  be  decided,  apparently,  late  in  its  development. 
Moreover,  the  question  as  to  which  it  shall  be  is 
pretty  certainly  determined,  not  by  the  organism 
alone,  but  also  by  its  environment/  It  seems  to  be 
a  fact,  for  instance,  that  more  boys  are  conceived  in 
times  of  war  and  hardship  and  among  the  poor,  and 
that  more  girls  are  conceived  in  times  of  peace  and 
plenty  and  among  the  rich.,/ The  determination  of 
the  sex  is  pretty  certainly  made  by  the  condition  of 
the  ovum,  the  environment,  or  the  mother  at  the 
critical  moment. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  although  the 
determination  may  be  dependent  upon  circumstances, 
the  fact  of  sex  in  most  animals  is  not  so  determined. 
The  organism  is  compelled  to  take  one  or  the  other 
course,  it  cannot  take  both  or  some  strange  one.  It 
is  as  though  nature  had  but  two  cards  to  deal.  She 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  267 

may  deal  them  "A  and  B,"  or  "B  and  A,"  and 
something  may  determine  which  the  order  shall  be; 
she  must,  however,  deal  either  one  way  or  the  other, 
and  the  two  ways  are  complementary,  /.  e.,  the  two 
possible  organisms  together  would  form  "A  B  and 
AB,"  a  symmetrical  unit. 

That  her  procedure  is  really  a  splitting  up  of  such 
a  symmetrical  unit  seems  to  be  shown  in  cases  in 
which  she  actually  seems  to  split  such  a  unit.  Such 
a  case  is  that  of  the  aphid,  or  plant  lice.  Through 
the  summer  the  symmetrical  unit  alone  exists.  It 
gives  birth  to  its  young  without  the  need  of  any  male, 
and  its  young  give  birth  to  others  similarly.  It  is 
a  perfect  animal  in  itself,  and  does  not  imply  any 
other.  But  in  the  autumn  (the  determining  cause 
has  been  proved  to  be  the  cold  weather),  the  young 
are  different  from  the  parent;  they  are  of  two  sexes, 
some  being  males  and  some  females,  and  both  differ- 
ent from  the  summer  aphids.  These,  now,  imply  and 
complete  each  other,  and  a  family  unit  is  the  result. 
Such  a  case,  as  we  have  said,  seems  clearly  to  show 
that  the  sexes  are  an  actual  splitting  up  of  a  perfect 
unit. 

Moreover,  the  splitting  up  is  along  definite  lines. 
The  units  complete  one  another.  This  may  perhaps 
be  shown  more  clearly  by  a  reference  to  those  cases 
in  which  there  are  more  than  two  sexes — for  although 
we  are  accustomed  to  think  of  the  sexes  as  two,  this 
is  merely  the  commonest  case.  Bees  have  three 
sexes,  ants  have  three,  but  often  four,  and  sometimes 
five  or  even  six.  In  all  these  cases  the  various  sexes 


268  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

are  complementary,  and  it  takes  all  to  make  a  com- 
plete family.  Each  sex  has  its  place,  and  each 
implies  all  the  rest. 

It  may  not  be  amiss  to  call  attention  more  definitely 
at  this  point  to  our  position  as  to  these  divisions. 
We  do  not  hold  that  each  sex  has  some  special  use- 
fulness in  the  family  unit,  though  this  may  be  the 
case;  we  do  not  pretend  to  know  what  relations  any 
division  may  imply.  What  we  do  hold,  however,  is 
that  each  sex  in  any  one  of  these  divisions  implies  the 
other  sexes — as  opposed  to  the  idea  that  the  various 
sexes  were  somehow  invented,  one  at  a  time,  to  serve 
some  useful  purpose.  Use  in  every  detail  is  not  at  all 
a  necessity,  if  only  the  family  as  a  whole  can  survive. 

We  have,  as  we  have  said,  no  clew  as  to  what  force, 
if  any,  has  caused  the  division  into  sexes.  Never- 
theless, the  phenomenon  is  not  alone  nor  without 
precedent.  It  seems  plainly  to  be  the  same  sort  of 
variation  as  that  which  we  observed  in  the  cell  and 
in  the  body.  In  the  simplest  forms  of  the  cell  and 
of  the  body,  namely,  we  found  that  all  the  component 
units  (molecules  and  cells,  respectively)  were  exactly 
alike.  Each  would  have  been  capable  of  existing 
alone.  But  in  all  the  higher  forms  of  cells  and  multi- 
cellular  units,  the  component  parts  were  not  alike, 
but  had  varied  off,  the  sum  of  them  being  a  perfect 
unit.  Each  molecule,  or  cell,  in  these  cases,  was  of 
such  a  sort  that  it  could  not  exist  without  the  support 
of  the  other  members  of  its  fusion;  each  presupposed 
and  implied  all  the  others. 

The  parallel  with  what  has  taken  place  in  the  sexes 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  269 

is  perfect.  Here,  too,  we  have  groups  of  organisms, 
no  one  of  which  could  exist  long  outside  of  the  unit; 
here,  too,  each  implies  all  the  others;  here,  too,  the 
functions  of  the  original  simple  individual  have  been 
analyzed,  and  individuals  have  been  specialized  to 
perform  the  separate  acts.  If  we  were  to  compare 
a  bee  family  with  the  body  of  a  human  being,  a 
considerable  number  of  the  different  sorts  of  cells 
would  be  found  clearly  represented  by  bees.  We 
shall  consider  this  later.  We  note  here,  only,  that  as 
in  the  group  of  cells  any  change  in  the  one  cell  was 
met  by  a  compensating  change  in  the  others  and  the 
unity  of  the  whole  was  maintained,  so,  in  the  family 
unit,  changes  in  one  sex  are  to  be  thought  of  as  taking 
place  with  a  compensating  change  in  the  others. 
Thus,  if  there  is  a  specialization  along  the  lines  of  the 
Personal  instinct,  it  may  be  expected,  and  this  is 
indeed  the  case,  that  the  Personal  gifts  of  the  one  sex 
will  be  balanced  by  the  Personal  gifts  of  the  other. 
Thus  it  happens  that  Personality  has  its  strongest 
field  in  the  relation  of  the  sexes.  Similarly  if  the 
sexes  are  specialized  as  to  reproduction,  the  repro- 
ductive gifts  of  the  one  will  be  exactly  complementary 
to  the  reproductive  gifts  of  the  other.  Moreover  if 
two  sexes  covered  fairly  the  whole  of  the  Personal 
and  reproductive  fields,  we  should  expect,  and  this 
is  the  case,  that  any  other  sexes  would  have  little  of 
these  gifts,  and  that  if  the  third  or  fourth  sex  had 
other  gifts,  the  first  two  sexes  would  be  deficient  in 
these.  The  unity  of  the  sexes,  taken  together,  is  not 
and  apparently  cannot  be  broken. 


270  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

The  phenomenon  has  all  the  appearance  of  being 
under  the  control  of  the  Social  instinct.  It  certainly 
is  the  field  of  the  most  striking  exhibitions  of  the 
instinct,  and,  given  the  sexes,  the  instinct  certainly 
controls  their  numerical  proportions  to  each  other. 
As  to  the  actual  determination  of  the  existence  of 
sexes,  however,  we  have  no  evidence  to  give  of  Social 
workings  other  than  the  striking  compensatory  char- 
acter of  the  actual  division.  As  for  the  possibility  of 
such  working  of  the  Social  instinct — we  can  hardly 
conceive  of  its  methods.1 

In  the  case  of  the  reproductive  acts  and  organs, 
however,  the  workings  of  the  Social  instinct  seem 
plain;  and  to  this  question  we  will  now  turn  our 
attention. 

Under  reproductive  acts  we  include  the  production 
of  free  sex-cells  and  the  care  for  the  fertilized  ovum. 
Under  reproductive  organs  we  include  all  those  pro- 
ducing the  sex-cells,  bringing  about  the  surer  meeting 
of  the  free  sex-cells,  and  accomplishing  the  protection 
and  nutriment  of  the  fertilized  ovum.  These  we 
consider  to  be  of  Social  origin.  Some  of  these  organs 
are:  the  sex-glands,  the  introjectory  organs  of  males, 
the  receptive  organs  of  females,  the  sacs  or  receptive 
hollows  of  certain  male  frogs,  the  wombs,  ovicysts, 
and  the  like  of  females,  the  ovipositors,  the  milk- 


1  It  may  perhaps  be  held  that  sex  is  caused  by  the  Social  instinct 
of  the  mother  (or  by  that  of  the  family,  e.  g.,  in  the  bees)  under  the 
general  influence  of  the  environment.  This  would  agree  with  the 
common  cases.  It  has  been  held  (and  disputed),  on  the  other  hand, 
that  in  the  case  of  the  frog,  at  least,  sex  is  determined  by  the  environ- 
ment after  the  egg  has  left  the  mother. 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  271 

glands,  and  any  other  such  physical  adaptations. 
These  do  not  exist  for  the  organism,  either  Materially 
or  Personally,  but  are  for  the  other  members  of  the 
family,  namely,  the  young. 

It  may  be  well  to  state  frankly  that  our  positive 
evidence  that  these  are  the  product  of  the  Social 
instinct  is  not  sufficient  to  convince  the  reader  who 
insists  upon  believing  otherwise.  We  shall  show  in 
our  evidence  the  possibility  of  the  interpretation 
rather  than  its  necessity.  First  of  all,  however,  we 
will  discuss  its  general  reasonableness. 

In  making  a  theory  for  any  phenomena,  it  must 
be  borne  in  mind  that  reasonableness  and  a  certain 
amount  of  illumination  are  matters  of  real  importance. 
If  the  relation  of  the  phenomena  is  not  altogether 
plain,  we  are  justified,  and  indeed  do  well  in  taking, 
at  least  tentatively,  the  theory  which  throws  most 
light  upon  the  situation. 

Now,  the  only  instincts  possibly  concerned  in  re- 
production seem  to  be  the  Personal  and  the  Social. 
If  any  real  light  is  to  be  thrown  upon  the  phenomena, 
it  must  evidently  be  by  the  disentanglement  of  the 
influences  of  these  two  instincts — granting,  of  course, 
that  there  are  two  such  instincts  and  that  each  has 
a  definite  character  of  its  own,  since,  evidently,  if  we 
do  not  take  definite  conceptions  to  begin  with,  we  can 
accomplish  nothing.  If,  now,  we  have  identified  and 
described  the  Personal  instinct  correctly,  it  is  clear 
that  it  is  an  interest  between  two  individuals  and  no 
more.  It  cannot  be  the  interest  that  holds  the  family 
together.  It  cannot  be  the  interest  of  the  mother  in 


272  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

her  young.  This  interest  can  be,  and  we  hold  is, 
the  Social  instinct.  The  interest  of  the  parents  in 
their  offspring,  however,  does  not  begin  with  the  birth 
of  these  offspring.  As,  after  birth,  the  cow  will  give 
down  milk  at  the  promptings  of  her  maternal  impulse, 
so,  also,  before  birth  she  will  keep  the  young  and  care 
for  it  within  her,  and  not  eject  it  as  she  would  a 
foreign  or  dead  substance.  Her  relations  to  it,  in 
short,  if  they  are  to  be  ascribed  to  any  instinct  at  all, 
must  all  be  ascribed  to  one,  and  that  one  must  be 
the  maternal,  /.  *?.,  the  Social.  Similarly,  in  the  last 
analysis,  all  organs  and  acts,  whether  male  or  female, 
which  have  an  evident  bearing  upon  the  safety  and 
production  of  the  young,  and  no  other  value,  must 
be  ascribed  to  this  instinct  if  we  are  to  bring  order 
out  of  the  chaos  of  the  phenomena.  In  the  last 
analysis,  this  can  hardly  be  denied  without  denying 
the  consistent  actions  and  characters  of  the  instincts. 

We  begin,  then,  with  our  evidence  as  to  the  Social 
nature  of  the  production  of  ova  and  spermatozoa. 
Undoubtedly  these  cells  are  strongly  Personal  and 
their  production  is  accompanied,  and  their  emission 
determined,  by  Personal  excitation;  nevertheless,  we 
hold  that  it  would  be  out  of  character  for  the  Personal 
to  have  produced  them,  while  it  is  clearly  in  character 
for  the  Social  to  do  so.  Moreover,  we  shall  show 
clearly  that  their  production  is  under  Social  control. 

First,  as  to  the  reasonableness  of  the  assumption. 

In  the  case  of  the  Material  instinct  we  noted  that 
it  produces  the  body;  it  is  not  satisfied  until  all  the 
cells  are  existent  and  in  their  places.  Now,  the  Social 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  273 

stands  in  the  same  relation  to  the  Social  body  or  unit, 
and  in  the  case  of  the  family  is  not  content  until  the 
unit  is  made  up  of  young  as  well  as  mature  members. 
It  is,  after  reason  comes  in,  the  desire  for  offspring. 
But  as  all  the  instincts  exert  power  that  will  tend 
toward  their  satisfaction,  we  suppose  that  the  Social 
impulse  works  to  the  production  of  germ-cells. 

Next,  as  to  the  evidence  in  the  facts. 

In  the  case  of  males,  the  production  of  these  cells 
is  not  evidently  connected  with  the  Social  impulse. 
We  might  well  have  supposed  it  to  be  Personal  in 
origin,  although  the  Social  (family)  instinct  is  regu- 
larly active  at  the  same  time.  In  females,  how- 
ever, the  influence  of  the  Social  element  seems  clear, 
at  least  in  certain  cases.  Many  animals,  for  instance, 
cease  to  produce  ova  during  the  time  that  they  have 
dependent  young.  This  is  strikingly  true,  to  give 
one  instance  out  of  many,  in  the  case  of  the  domestic 
hen.  On  the  other  hand,  the  production  sometimes 
depends  upon  the  numerical  satisfaction  received 
from  the  eggs  laid — the  Social  unit  must  be  complete 
before  laying  will  stopy  Thus  the  flicker,  if  system- 
atically  robbed,  may  be  made  to  lay  as  many 
fifty  or  even  seventy  eggs,  whereas  she  would  ordi- 
narily cease  laying  after  seven  or  eight.  ,/Thus,  both 
the  inhibition  and  the  production  of  ova  show  the 
control  of  the  Social  impulse.  It  may  not  be  amiss 
to  notice,  also,  at  this  point  the  apparently  Social 
response  of  queen  bees  and  ants  in  this  relation. 
These  females  lay  according  to  the  needs  of  the 
family  (/'.  e.,  according  to  the  numerical  proportions 


274  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

of  the  sexes  in  it),  either  or  any  sort  of  egg.  In  the 
case  of  the  bee,  the  decision  as  to  the  sex  of  the  egg  is 
said  certainly  to  lie  with  the  queen,  and  it  is  quite 
probably  so  also  with  the  ant.  This  would  fall  in 
exactly  with  our  position. 

We  pass  now  to  the  consideration  of  those  organs 
whose  significance  is  discovered  only  upon  bringing 
in  the  thought  of  the  immature  organisms,  /.  e.,  the 
young.  Such  are:  (i)  the  introjectory  organs  of 
certain  males  and  the  complementary  organs  of  their 
females — to  insure  the  meeting  and  union  of  sex- 
cells;  (2)  the  wombs,  ovicysts,  and  the  like — in  which 
the  fertilized  ova  are  kept  until  they  have  reached 
a  certain  degree  of  maturity;  (3)  the  milk-glands — 
to  nourish  the  young  for  some  time  after  birth.  We 
mention  these  three  sorts  of  organs  as  typical;  the 
details  and  actual  arrangements  are  numerous,  and 
vary  greatly  in  different  kinds  of  organisms. 

In  order  to  clear  the  ground  fully,  we  note  at  once 
that  the  complementary  nature  of  the  impregnating 
organs  in  the  two  sexes  of  many  animals  is  to  be  as- 
cribed to  the  complementary  nature  of  the  sexes  in 
general.  Reproductive  offices  having  been  divided 
between  two  sexes,  these  two  sexes  somehow  must  be, 
and  in  fact  always  are,  complementary. 

We  come,  then,  to  the  general  fact  that  the  body 
is  suited  to  the  young.  Upon  what  grounds  is  this 
to  be  explained  ? 

Our  theory  holds  that  it  is  the  Social  impulse  at 
work.  The  essential  act  of  the  Social  impulse  as 
we  shall  see,  is  cooperation,  /.  £.,  the  mutual  support 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  275 

of  the  members  of  a  Social  unit.  In  this  case,  the 
unit  is  made  up  of  the  two  parents  and  the  young. 
This  is  the  family  unit.  That  in  the  later  stages  of 
the  family  history  the  parents  cooperate  with  the 
young,  and  the  young  (according  to  their  power  and 
maturity)  with  the  parents,  there  can  be  no  doubt. 
What  we  hold  is  that  this  relation  exists  also  before  the 
young  are  born,  and  that  the  unborn  young  influence 
the  parents  to  the  elemental  bodily  details  made  to 
help  them. 

At  first  blush,  such  a  position  may  look  even  worse 
than  the  ordinary  rabbit-frorri-a-hat  style  of  reason- 
ing common  among  our  evolutionists,  since  it  is  plain 
that  the  reproductive  organs  in  any  given  organism 
antedate  by  far  the  fertilized  ovum.  The  difficulty, 
however,  is  not  serious,  theoretically,  and  we  shall 
not  be  compelled,  as  the  evolutionists  are,  to  use 
inherited  memories  with  retrogressive  selection. 

It  must  be  remembered,  in  the  first  place,  that, 
although  we  have  followed  the  ordinary  custom  of 
using  the  word  "sex-gland,"  the  free  sex-cells  (the 
spermatozoa  and  ova)  are  not  products  of  a  gland  in 
the  sense  that  saliva,  bile,  and  other  secretions  are. 
The  sex-cells  are  live  cells  and  are  the  offspring  of 
other  live  cells.  Their  ancestry  can  be  traced 
directly  back  to  the  single  cell,  the  fertilized  ovum, 
from  which  all  the  other  cells  of  the  body,  also,  are 
descended.  But  it  is  the  belief  of  biologists  that  the 
relation  of  the  sex-cells  to  the  original  fertilized  cell 
is  much  closer  than  that  of  any  other  cells  of  the  body. 
The  others  have  all  become  specialized  to  take  part 


276  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

in  the  complementary,  mutually  supporting  aggre- 
gation of  the  body,  while  the  sex-cells  have  done  no 
such  thing,  but  are  almost  exactly  the  original  fer- 
tilized ovum.  Moreover,  it  is  believed  that  this  close 
similarity  between  the  free  sex-cells,  which  the  body 
sends  out  at  maturity,  and  the  original  single  cell 
from  which  the  body  was  made,  is  to  be  explained  as 
a  case  of  actual  close  relationship.  When,  namely, 
the  original  single  cell  splits  into  several,  one  of  the 
first  few  cells  ceases  to  divide  further,  and  through  all 
the  body-building  remains  unchanged,  and,  finally, 
still  practically  unchanged,  is  the  direct  producer, 
through  splitting  up,  of  the  sex-cells  that  the  body 
sends  forth.  It  is  said  to  have  been  sufficiently 
proved  in  certain  cases  that  the  reproductive  cell  is 
one  of  the  first  eight  into  which  the  fertilized  ovum 
splits. 

Our  theory  holds  that  it  is  this  cell  (the  still  un- 
fertilized ovum  or  spermatozoon  of  the  future)  that 
at  all  stages  of  development  holds  a  relation  of  off- 
spring to  the  body,  and  influences  it  to  the  formation 
of  the  Socially  cooperative  organs  of  reproduction. 

This  influence  during  the  earlier  stages  of  develop- 
ment is  comparatively  slight.  The  other  needs  of  the 
organism  are  evidently  far  stronger  and  more  impera- 
tive. Nevertheless,  even  at  an  early  stage  the  de- 
cision of  the  sex  of  the  organism  takes  place,  and 
takes  place  according  to  the  sex  of  the  cells  that  are 
hereafter  to  be  sent  out.  In  the  mammalia,  however, 
birth,  even,  takes  place  before  the  organs  of  repro- 
duction are  fully  mature. 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  277 

When,  however,  the  body  has  reached  or  closely 
approached  its  Material  perfection,  the  reproductive 
parts  come  to  be  strongly  influential.  In  the  mam- 
malia this  is  accompanied  by  many  developments, 
some  Personal  (since  the  sex-cells  are  strongly 
Personal),  but  many  of  the  most  striking,  Social. 
Almost  all  the  female  developments  at  adolescence 
are  Social,  /".  ^.,  reproductive. 

Nevertheless  it  is  in  pregnancy,  when  the  influence 
of  the  offspring-to-be  is  at  its  strongest,  that  full 
development  occurs,  and  it  occurs  in  proportion  as 
the  offspring  develops.  The  female  body  enlarges 
and  changes  profoundly,  even  the  head  and  brain 
changing  and  increasing  in  size;  and  the  milk-glands, 
at  the  birth  of  the  offspring,  are  finally  mature  and 
productive. 

It  may  be  well  to  notice  the  same  case  among 
plants.  In  them,  also,  the  production  of  the  repro- 
ductive part  (the  flower)  and  the  seeds  is  of  profound 
importance  and  influence  in  the  whole  organism.  In 
most  plants  all  the  savings  in  vigor  and  nutriment  for 
the  year  are  expended  in  this  act.  In  some  cases  the 
death  of  the  plant  follows  quickly.  Striking  instances 
are  found  in  the  biennials,  e.  g.,  the  cabbage  and 
the  turnip  or  beet.  Here  the  immense  head  or  root 
shrivels  and  is  quite  exhausted,  and  the  plant  finally 
dies,  in  the  production  of  the  flower  and  fruit.  We 
may  note,  also,  the  dandelion  which  is  edible  until  it 
blooms,  but  then  becomes  bitter,  having  undergone 
a  change  even  in  its  leaves.  In  all  plants,  however, 
the  act  of  blossoming  and  fruiting  is  a  heavy  strain, 


278  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

and  experienced  gardeners  are  careful  not  to  let  a 
bush  bloom  immediately  after  transplanting  it. 

The  natural  question  may  here  arise  whether  the 
plants  and  animals  in  these  great  changes  at  preg- 
nancy are  really  influenced  by  the  offspring — whether 
these  changes  are  due  to  the  influence  of  the  offspring, 
and  are  not  rather  the  simple  natural  development  of 
the  parent. 

That  they  take  place  when  the  offspring  is  there, 
and  do  not  take  place  if  the  offspring  is  not  there  (e.  g., 
if  the  buds  are  clipped  off,  or  the  young  miscarry) 
would  seem  to  indicate  clearly  the  source  of  the  in- 
fluence as  being  the  offspring.  There  is,  however, 
more  indubitable  proof.  Darwin  and  a  friend  of  his 
found,  for  instance,  that  if  the  pollen  from  a  red- 
podded  pea  was  used  to  fertilize  a  green-podded 
variety,  the  hybrid  fruit  sometimes  had  a  red  pod  or 
at  least  red-coated  seeds.  Now,  the  pod  and  the 
seed  coatings  are  not  parts  of  the  seed.  Here,  then, 
we  have  a  clear  case  of  a  strong  influence  proceeding 
from  the  seed  to  the  neighboring  parts.  Again,  it  has 
been  noted  by  dog  fanciers,  from  Darwin's  time  to 
ours,  that  if  a  pure-blooded  bitch  be  allowed  to  cross 
with  a  dog  not  of  her  breed,  she  will  rarely  or  never 
breed  true  thereafter  with  those  of  her  own  strain. 
She  has  been  permanently  changed  by  the  litter  of 
mongrels,  and  this  change  affects  the  subsequent 
litters.  Darwin's  account  of  the  mare  whose  off- 
spring, after  one  hybrid  foal  by  a  quagga,  continued 
to  resemble  quaggas,  though  they  were  of  pure- 
blooded  horse  ancestry,  is  classical  and  has  not  been 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  279 

refuted.  Thus  the  direct  evidence  of  unusual  cases 
seems  as  clear  as  the  natural  interpretation  of  the 
ordinary  facts. 

It  may  be  asked,  however,  whether  the  positions 
taken  in  these  last  pages  are  not,  after  all,  from  a 
scientific  point  of  view,  discouraging,  mystic,  and 
useless.  Is  it  science  at  all  ?  These  questions,  it 
seems,  should  be  fairly  answered  before  going  further, 
although  other  facts  substantiating  our  position  will 
be  adduced  in  a  future  chapter. 

If  by  discouraging  is  meant  that  our  positions  tend 
to  prevent  further  inquiry  and  that  they  are  not  sus- 
ceptible of  confirmation  and  disproof,  we  can  honestly 
deny  the  charge  in  toto.  The  positions  are  built  on 
actual  phenomena  which  can  and  should  be  given 
every  treatment  that  human  ingenuity  can  devise  to 
make  the  details  clearer.  It  is  not  our  intention,  here 
or  elsewhere,  to  claim  one  jot  more  than  the  phe- 
nomena will  fairly  allow.  Moreover,  we  hold,  both 
here  and  elsewhere,  that  there  is  always  a  physical 
side  corresponding  to  the  mental,  and  we  have  held 
at  all  points  that  this  physical  side  should  be  quite 
as  much  an  object  of  inquiry  as  the  mental. 

If  by  mystic  is  meant  that  we  class  intricate  actions\ 
with  simple  ones,  the  charge  must  be  admitted.  We  J 
feel  convinced  that,  for  the  present  at  least,  this  is  / 
necessary.  We  do  not  pretend  to  go  back  of  the/ 
phenomena  that  seem  elementary.  How  the  animal  j 
recognizes  its  food — how  the  dog  recognizes  the  fe-  I 
male  dog — how  the  cat  recognizes  another  animal  / 
as  a  cat — these  are  questions  we  do  not  pretend  to  \ 


280 


A  THEORY  OF  MIND 


answer.  The  resultant  actions  of  eating,  mating,  and 
cooperation,  we  do  not  pretend  to  explain  either. 
Undoubtedly  these  instincts  seem  more  mysterious 
when  they  take  place  in  large  multicellular  organisms; 
to  call  them  simple  is  a  little  as  though  one  were  to 
find  an  atom  as  large  as  a  house.  Nevertheless,  if  we 
stumble  at  cooperation  in  the  larger  animals,  it  must 
be  held  in  memory  that  the  cooperation  of  the  body 
cells  among  each  other  is  far  more  wonderful  than 
anything  found  in  the  larger  organisms.  It  is  the 
novelty  of  the  conception  that  makes  it  seem  mystic; 
it  is  not  in  fact  one  whit  more  mystic  than  the  similar 
explanation  of  the  similar  acts  in  the  lower  units. 
We  observe,  again,  that  we  do  not,  by  our  position, 
let  down  the  bars  to  wild  unreason;  on  the  contrary, 
we  intend  that  every  detail  of  the  theory  shall  be 
clearly  put,  and  shall  stand  rigidly  upon  the  facts. 

In  a  word,  then,  it  is  upon  their  usefulness  that  the 
positions  must  stand  or  fall.  They  must  stand  or 
fall  as  they  agree  with  the  actual  phenomena;  as  they 
make  actualities  clearer  and  more  rational;  as  they 
promote  clear  and  restrained  and  definite  thought  and 
inquiry.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  size  of  the  units 
with  which  we  begin  is  hardly  the  question,  provided 
those  units  exist  and  can  be  used  to  advantage. 
Even  though  hereafter  they  may  be  reduced  to  sim- 
pler terms,  such  units  may  be  of  immense  value 
temporarily.  When  then  we  consider  man  and  the 
atoms  both  as  units,  and  both  as  subject  to  our 
axioms  of  mind,  the  essential  question  really  is 
whether  such  a  point  of  view  justifies  itself  in  thought. 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  281 

We  hope  to  show  in  this  chapter,  as  we  attempted 
to  show  in  the  last  one,  that  the  point  of  view  is 
illuminating  and  helpful. 

THE    EXTRA-SOCIAL   INSTINCT 

The  Extra-Social  instinct  is  the  Social  instinct  as 
it  shows  itself  in  the  formation  and  arrangement  of 
the  Extra  parts  of  the  Social  unit.  It  first  appears 
in  the  family  unit,  where  its  phenomena  are  some  of 
those  already  described  under  the  Material  instinct, 
viz.,  house-building,  sense  of  property,  and  sense  of 
location.  Indeed,  many  of  the  illustrations  given 
there  belong  under  the  Extra-Social  heading,  and  it 
may  be  said  in  general  that  the  building  of  homes  and 
the  development  of  the  sense  of  property  occur  in- 
frequently except  in  mated  animals.  Some  of  the 
most  striking  family  homes  are  the  paper  and  other 
nests  of  wasps,  ants,  and  bees;  the  nests  of  birds; 
the  houses  of  beavers  and  musk-rats;  and,  of  course, 
human  habitations.  Ants  and  bees  also  sometimes 
lay  up  stores  in  their  family  houses. 

In  most  of  these  cases  the  relation  of  the  family  to 
the  house  seems  comparatively  simple.  In  the  case 
of  bees  and  ants,  however,  some  illumination  is  per- 
haps afforded  by  our  comparison  of  the  family  to  the 
multicellular  organism.  If  the  family  may  be  con- 
sidered as  such  an  organism,  evidently  the  members 
of  the  family  are  to  be  considered  as  the  cells  of  it. 
The  home,  then,  is  to  be  compared  with  the  skin  or 
some  other  such  Extra  part.  In  the  case  of  the  bees, 
the  comb  is,  however,  not  to  be  compared  to  any  sort 


282  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

of  covering;  it  is  rather  an  internal  Extra  part.  It  is 
to  be  noticed,  moreover,  that  the  cells  of  a  honey- 
comb are  of  just  the  size  of  a  bee,  /'.  ^.,  of  one  of  the 
living  cells  of  the  family  organism.  Hence  the  honey- 
comb, with  its  cells,  may  fairly  be  compared  to  those 
cells  of  multicellular  bodies  which  store  up  nutriment 
and  serve  no  other  use.  A  well-stored  hive  might 
fairly  be  compared  with  a  fat  animal.  It  also  brings 
the  bee  family  into  a  real  class  with  such  ants  as 
Myrmecocystus,  described  by  Dr.  McCook.  In 
these  ants,  actual  individuals  (/.  e.y  according  to  our 
view,  live  cells  of  the  family  body)  are  used  as  storing 
cells,  and  exactly  take  the  place  of  a  honey-comb. 
The  difference  in  the  working  of  the  Extra  instinct 
in  these  two  cases  thus  becomes  slight. 

At  this  point  there  arise  questions  very  much  like 
those  we  have  already  considered.  Is,  or  is  not,  the 
nest  built  for  the  young  ?  An  ordinary  evolutionary 
explanation  makes  the  origin  of  the  nest  a  parental 
placing  of  leaves  or  straw,  or  a  similar  hollowing  of 
the  ground,  under  the  birds  after  their  hatching. 
This  chance  act  through  natural  selection  became 
fixed  and  then  developed.  Then  came  the  bird  who 
chanced  to  build  before  the  young  were  hatched. 
Finally,  the  bird  who  anticipated  even  the  laying  of 
the  eggs.  Thus  by  retrogressive  selection  they  pro- 
duce their  rabbit  from  their  hat. 

Of  course,  any  assumption  that  the  bird  (to  take  a 
special  case)  foresees  eggs  and  young  when  she  is 

] building,  must  be  dismissed  at  once.     Birds  can  have  \ 
no   knowledge  that  they  are  to  have  young,  even   < 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  283 

though  they  have  had  them  before.  Moreover,  birds 
will  build  though  they  have  never  had  any,  and  they 
will  build  characteristically,  not  only  as  to  material 
and  form  but  also  as  to  situation.  It  may  not  be 
amiss  to  note,  also,  that  nests  are  often  very  ill-suited 
to  the  brood;  the  robin,  for  instance,  lays  four  or 
five  eggs  in  a  nest  that  is  only  large  enough  for  three 
young.  If  the  eggs  hatch,  the  extra  young  are  in- 
variably crowded  out  and  perish.  The  nest  is  suited 
not  to  the  brood  but  to  the  mother  bird. 

A  more  tenable  assumption,  according  to  our 
theory,  would  be  that  the  mother  is  influenced  by  her 
pregnant  condition  into  a  preparation  for  the  young 
that  are  to  come.  Undoubtedly  she  builds  when 
pregnant  and  undoubtedly  that  condition  influences 
her,  but  what  is  the  nature  of  this  influence  ?  It 
seems  impossible  that  she  could  be  influenced  to 
prepare  for  a  future  contingency.  Her  bodily  condi- 
tion, which  we  have  ascribed  to  the  influence  of  the 
unborn  young,  does  not  anticipate  the  young,  but 
goes  with  them,  step  by  step,  and  is,  in  general, 
exactly  ready  for  them  at  their  birth.  Even  a  prepara- 
tion for  the  eggs  (let  alone  the  young)  would  be  a  long 
look  into  the  future,  considering  the  length  of  time 
necessary  to  build. 

On  the  whole,  then,  it  seems  most  plausible  to 
hold  that,  with  the  progress  of  pregnancy,  the  Social 
instinct,  becoming  much  stronger  than  usual,  leads 
to  the  building  of  a  Social  home,  which  thereafter  is 
the  focus  of  the  Social  unit  of  the  family.  After  the 
nest  is  made,  the  eggs  would,  of  course,  be  laid  there, 


284  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

the  premonitory  feeling  being  of  such  a  nature  as  to 
arouse  a  strong  Social  desire,  which  would  be  best 
satisfied  by  the  nest,  the  family  focus.  The  reasoning 
here  is  similar  to  that  on  the  bringing  home  of  food, 
prey,  and  the  like. 

An  important  consideration  is  that  of  the  form  of 
the  nest.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  nest  is 
part  of  the  family  Social  unit.  The  birds  evidently 
think  of  it  and  its  environs  very  much  as  they  think 
of  themselves.  They  do  not  stray  far  from  it,  and 
they  are  affected  by  anything  done  or  threatened  it, 
as  if  it  were  themselves.  But  after  all,  it  is  in  many 
cases  hardly  what  can  be  called  a  dwelling  place. 
Some  nests  of  other  animals  are  even  less  so,  e.  g., 
those  of  the  mud-wasps.  Other  animals  build  no 
nest  at  all,  but  merely  lay  their  eggs  in  special  or 
suitable  places.  All  of  these,  however,  we  consider 
variations  of  the  Extra-Social  instinct  of  the  family, 
which  evidently  may  be  satisfied  in  very  slight  ways. 
Thus,  pregnancy  arouses  in  the  bronze  butterfly  the 
impulse  to  have  a  milkweed  or  some  other  special 
plant  as  her  home,  though  she  builds  nothing  on  it 
unless  it  be  a  web  to  hold  her  eggs  there.  So  preg- 
nant flies  prefer  meat  to  sugar  as  a  laying  spot; 
some  wasps  lay  eggs  in  spiders;  etc.  No  doubt  the 
elaborateness  of  the  home  corresponds  with  the 
elaborateness  of  the  Extra-Social  instinct.  No  doubt, 
also,  natural  selection  has  held  its  veto  ready.  We 
may  imagine,  for  instance,  a  very  different  state  of 
things  in  the  birds  and  insects  of  prehistoric  ages. 

It  is  worthy  of  notice  here  that  in  the  case  of  butter- 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  285 

flies  and  certain  other  insects  the  influence  of  the 
hungry  young  that  are  still  unborn  seems  plainly 
evident  in  the  home  instinct.  The  butterfly  hunts 
out  the  weed  upon  which  her  young  will  hereafter 
feed;  the  wasp  hunts  out  the  spider;  etc.  Such  an 
explanation  may  also  conceivably  be  used  for  the 
lining  of  nests  with  softer  materials,  etc. 

If,  however,  we  be  asked  about  the  relation  of  the 
third  party  in  some  of  these  cases — how,  for  instance, 
the  fly  or  its  young  possess  the  proper  chemical  to 
produce  the  oak  gall — this  we  frankly  give  up.  The 
relation  of  the  fly  to  the  oak  tree  on  which  it  feeds 
does  not  seem  to  fall  within  the  simpler  facts  of  our 
theory.  It  may  have  a  long  history,  and  the  element 
of  chance,  upon  which  natural  selection  rests,  may 
perhaps  come  into  it. 

THE    PRACTICAL-SOCIAL    INSTINCT 

The  Practical-Social  instinct  is  the  Social  instinct 
as  it  exists  between  the  members  of  a  Social  unit 
before  memory  comes  in.  It  is  the  Social  instinct 
without  thought. 

The  Social  instinct,  where  it  exists,  is  usually  like 
the  Material  in  that  it  is  notably  even  and  constant 
and  continuously  active.  It  often  requires  little  for 
its  satisfaction,  but  that  little  it  quietly  and  constantly 
endeavors  to  obtain. 

The  most  evident  necessity  of  the  instinct  is  the 
physical  presence  of  suitable  other  individuals.  If 
these  are  absent,  either  temporarily  or  in  advance 
of  Social  experience,  the  animal  may  wander  about 


286  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

constantly  in  search  of  them.  There  is  nothing 
characteristic  in  such  wandering,  the  movements 
being  apparently  the  ordinary  Material  ones.  The 
relation  of  the  Social  to  the  Material  is,  we  may 
remark  in  passing,  very  much  the  same  as  that  of  the 
Personal  to  the  Material,  except  that  there  is  harmony 
rather  than  conflict  between  them.  The  unsatisfied 
Social  feeling  or  yearning  may  be  called  loneliness, 
and  often  amounts  to  fear.  It  seems  often  to  be  a 
part  of  the  fear  of  the  dark,  of  the  wilderness  or 
desert  or  woods,  and,  ordinarily,  of  being  lost — 
/.  e.,  these  are  often  lessened  by  companionship.  It 
results  in  a  weakened  Material  vitality,  and  may  even 
result  in  death.  The  honey  bee,  it  is  said,  will  die 
of  loneliness,  if  put  in  solitary  confinement,  and  the 
same  is  sometimes  true  of  man.  / 

The  Social  impulse  is  aroused  to  interest  and 
curiosity,  and  is  finally  made  definite  by  influences 
received  from  suitable  other  individuals.  This 
definite  interest  in  certain  individuals,  when  fused 
to  a  percept,  is  commonly  called  recognition,  though 
it  is  not  properly  recognition  at  all,  but  is  quite  in- 
tuitive. Each  animal  recognizes  his  own  kind,  or 
those  with  whom  he  will  associate,  from  the  first  and 
without  experience.  In  default  of  suitable  associates, 
however,  many  animals  of  strong  Social  impulses 
will  take  up  strangers  and  so  accomplish  a  deceived 
satisfaction,  as,  for  instance,  when  a  chicken  mothers 
young  ducks. 

As  in  the  case  of  the  Personal  instinct,  the  means 
of  influence  is  not  always  clear.  In  many  animals 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  287 

influence  seems  to  be  through  smell  and  touch.  In  the 
higher  animals  sight  and  hearing  undoubtedly  con- 
tribute a  large  share.  Ants  recognize  each  other  by 
touching  their  antennae,  and  the  sense  used  may  be 
smell.  Many  persons  in  all  ages  have  claimed^ that 
there  is^  a  special  Social  sense,  differing  and  more 
subtle  and  far-reaching  than  the  known  senses. 
This  sense  is  now  called  the  telepathic.  It  is  still 
unproved  as  to  fact  and  unclassified  as  to  theory,  but 
if  existent  must,  of  course,  have  a  physical  basis. 

In  some  animals  the  Social  sense  seems  peculiarly 
keen.  The  family  instinct  of  the  ants,  for  instance, 
distinguishes  by  some  means  the  members  of  strange 
families,  even  of  its  own  species,  almost  inerrantly; 
and  this  is  certainly  not  done  through  memory  of 
acquaintanceship,  but  is  apparently  quite  intuitive. 
Lubbock's  experiments  in  this  direction,  though 
negative,  are  extremely  interesting  and  valuable.1 
Similarly,  bees  of  the  same  hive  recognize  each  other 
as  individuals  of  the  same  family,  though  less  cer- 
tainly than  the  ants. 

With  recognition  the  Social  unit  is  regularly  ex- 
istent. This  unit,  as  we  have  said,  is  a  repetition  of 
the  Material  body  unit.  Its  essence,  therefore,  is 
that  the  members  composing  it  act  as  one  organism. 
This  essential  act  is  called  cooperation.  Cooperation, 
as  here  used,  must  be  understood  in  the  broadest 
sense.  It  must  cover  such  a  case  as  when  three  men 
lift  one  stone,  but  it  must  also  cover  the  case  where 
one  dog  barks  because  another  one  does  it.  This 

1  "Ants,  Bees,  and  Wasps,"  Lubbock. 


288  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

latter  is  also  cooperation.  It  is  to  be  remembered 
that  here,  as  in  the  other  instincts,  conscious  purpose 
does  not  enter  into  the  impulse.  When  our  animals 
act  together  and  as  one,  the  act  is  cooperation, 
whether  anything  is  accomplished  thereby  or  not. 
The  barking  dog  may  have  no  thought  of  any  sort; 
he  would  certainly  have  no  purpose;  he  does,  how- 
ever, help  the  other  dog  in  his  barking,  and  the  act, 
though  it  may  be  called  imitation,  is  distinctly  more 
than  is  implied  by  that  word. 

Certain  writers  of  importance,  in  discussing  the 
Social  instinct,  have  hit  upon  imitation  as  the 
original  Social  act.  This  leads  to  unfortunate 
complications.  Imitation  may  have  any  one  of 
several  sources  and  may  not  be  Social  at  all.  It  may 
be  mere  practice,  which  is  absolutely  common  to  all 
the  instincts,  and  is  quite  as  often  Material  and 
Personal  as  it  is  Social.  If,  for  instance,  I  observe  that 
some  other  man  by  certain  methods  is  able  to  catch 
fish  when  I  catch  none,  my  imitation  of  him  may  be 
Material,  not  Social.  Or,  if  I  dress  and  talk  and  smile 
in  imitation  of  some  one,  in  the  hope  of  breaking  the 
hearts  of  the  ladies,  or  if  a  bird  learns  its  song  from 
its  fellows,  that  imitation  is  Personal,  not  Social. 
And  in  either  case  the  trick  may  be  practised  a  long 
time,  and  with  great  patience,  and  still  there  is 
nothing  Social  in  the  imitation.  It  is  all  a  struggle 
toward  a  Material  or  Personal  ideal.  Even  imitation 
in  Social  matters  is  not  an  essentially  Social  matter, 
therefore,  but  is  the  same  in  essence  as  the  struggles 
toward  other  ideals.  Cooperation,  on  the  other 


289 

hand,  is  essentially  Social,  and  when  it  looks  like 
imitation  is  still  essentially  different.  The  three 
men  lifting  one  stone  are  not  really  imitating  each 
other,  though  they  may  be  like  reflections  of  one 
another;  the  barking  dog  is  not  trying  to  be  as  loud- 
mouthed or  brave  as  the  other  dog  (or  if  he  is,  it  is 
not  even  imitation),  but  is  barking  with  him.  Only 
with  such  a  clear  distinction  is  our  advance  possible. 

The  essential  law  back  of  cooperation  is,  of  course, 
our  axiom  that  an  impulse  in  one  unit  tends  to  make 
definite  the  complementary  impulse  in  a  suitable 
other  individual.  Here  the  impulse  is  toward  a 
fusion  of  minds  and  of  interests. 

Cooperation  can  apparently  take  place  only 
through  influences  conveyed  by  the  ordinary  forces 
of  nature,  and  hence  is  at  first  comparatively  super- 
ficial though  very  elaborate.  Thus,  for  example,  one 
animal  will  look  round  or  stand  as  another  does 
(light);  or  men  will  speak  or  sing  in  very  exact 
imitation  of  each  other  (sound).  But  this  soon  goes 
deeper.  When,  for  instance,  we  hear  a  human 
shriek,  we  make  the  movements  to  join  in  it,  and 
this  position  of  the  physical  organs  (working  ap- 
parently like  a  focus  of  a  fusion)  brings  the  whole 
mind  into  a  cooperative  condition — either  of  fear, 
say,  or  of  helpful  eagerness.  This  cooperation  of 
mind  is  called  sympathy.  It  is  intuitive  and  re- 
quires no  experience.  Thus,  the  cur  will  run  if 
yelped  at;  thus,  also,  birds  give  the  alarm  or  some 
other  signal  to  their  mates  or  young.  Similarly,  the 
various  expressions  of  the  human  face  and  the  move- 


290  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ments  of  trembling,  haste,  excitement,  and  the  like, 
are  understood  (more  or  less)  intuitively.  Among 
some  animals  the  odors  given  out  from  the  body  may 
differ  according  to  the  animals'  impulses.  In  such 
a  case  the  odors  may  be  a  means  of  sympathy. 
Thus,  friendly  dogs  are  said  to  put  their  noses  to- 
gether before  starting  on  a  cooperative  enterprise, 
and  ants  may  act  similarly. 

In  order  to  a  Material  or  Personal  sympathy  it  is 
necessary  that  there  should  be  a  complementary 
nature  in  the  individuals  of  the  unit.  The  Social 
union  is  thus  a  union  not  according  to  individual 
traits,  but  rather  according  to  generic  or  specific 
ones.  Hence  it  results  in  collections  of  animals  of 
the  same  species  or  habits. 

The  closest  unions  are  composed  of  individuals 
related  by  birth,  as  in  the  family.  Sometimes, 
however,  the  individuals  are  merely  of  one  species, 
as  in  most  large  collections  of  birds,  fishes,  and 
quadrupeds.  Sometimes,  again,  they  are  of  more 
than  one  species,  as  in  bees  or  ants  of  different  sorts, 
that  nest  together,  and  birds  that  flock  in  the  same 
way.  Occasionally  the  differences  are  still  greater, 
as  when  owls  and  prarie-dogs  and  snakes  nest  to- 
gether. The  closeness  of  such  unions  must,  of  course, 
vary  greatly  since  they  depend  upon  the  power  of 
cooperation  and  sympathy.  Some  of  them  are  a  mere 
keeping  of  company,  others  are  elaborate  organiza- 
tions. 

It  is  plain  that  the  effect  of  the  Social  instinct  is 
chiefly  to  lessen  individual  action  as  such.  Instead 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  291 

of  following  the  individual  impulses,  as  such,  these 
impulses  are  altered  by  the  state  or  behavior  of  other 
individuals  of  the  unit.  These  alterations  are  of  two 
sorts:  Either  (i)  impulses  are  aroused  or  strength- 
ened, or  (2)  they  are  lessened  or  inhibited.  As  each 
member  of  a  unit  tends  to  associate  with  all  the  other 
members,  this  control  will  be  least  in  the  smallest 
units  and  will  increase  (at  first  rapidly)  as  the  units 
increase  in  size.  Thus  the  Social  unit  tends  to  bring 
about  a  uniformity  both  of  impulse  and  of  action  in 
the  collective  unit.  Nevertheless,  two  things  are  to 
be  considered.  First,  that  cooperation  may  result 
in  very  dissimilar  actions,  if  the  individuals  of  the 
unit  differ  in  nature  from  one  another,  and,  secondly, 
that  a  cooperative  or  sympathetic  impulse  is  regularly 
weaker  than  an  original  one,  and  that  there  is  often 
a  considerable  difference  in  the  strength  of  Social 
impulses  in  individuals  of  the  same  unit.  The  uni- 
formity in  the  Social  unit  is  thus  a  strong  tendency 
merely.  It  is  also  most  marked  in  the  larger  units 
since  in  them  there  are  in  general  no  striking  indi- 
vidual differences  such  as  the  sexes  exhibit  in  the 
families  of,  e.  g.,  the  ants  and  the  bees. 

We  will  consider  first  the  essentially  simpler  cases 
in  which  the  individuals  of  the  unit  are  practically 
alike.  In  this  case  each  contributes  or  may  contrib- 
ute an  individual  quota  of  impulses  and  acts;  each 
receives  a  quota  of  the  same  from  each  of  the  others. 
The  result  may  be  a  closely  similar  state  of  mind  in 
each  individual,  and  this  state  may  be  due  not  to  any 
one  mind,  nor  even  to  the  mere  summing  up  of  the 


292  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

minds,  but  may,  in  the  summing  up,  acquire  quite 
a  new  character.  Such  a  collective  unitwould  not  only 
be  less  easily  affected,  ordinarily,  than  the  individuals 
of  which  it  is  composed,  since  each  is  constantly  in- 
fluenced by  the  others,  but  the  actions  and  impulses 
of  the  individuals  might  possess  characteristics  not 
to  be  foreseen  from  the  individual  behavior  of  those 
out  of  the  unit.  The  mere  satisfaction  of  Social 
restlessness  would  make  a  difference  even  if  there 
were  not  the  changes  that  come  from  mutual  aid  and 
sympathy,  in  the  sunshine  of  which  many  things  come 
to  light.  In  a  word,  the  actions  of  animals  in  a  Social 
unit  are  not  to  be  foreseen,  but  will  certainly  differ 
from  their  actions  as  individuals  and  out  of  the  unit. 
An  illustration  of  this  may  be  found  in  the  ordinary 
act  of  cooperative  attack  or  defense.  For  instance, 
if  one  member  of  the  unit  perceives  an  object  of  fear 
or  hatred,  he  will,  perhaps,  turn  toward  it  and  utter 
some  cry.  The  others  of  the  unit  will  turn  cooper- 
atively and  utter  the  same  cry.  They  may  thus 
augment  each  other's  feelings  so  that  those  nearest 
will  even  advance  upon  the  object  of  fear.  Then 
all  will  advance.'  Those  nearest  and  coming  nearer 
would  perhaps,  if  alone,  be  overcome  by  fear  and 
avoid  the  actual  attack,  but  the  sympathy  with  their 
fellows  who  are  not  so  near  the  actual  danger  may 
overcome  their  individual  faltering  and  hold  them 
firm  so  that  together  they  may  accomplish  much  that 
no  one  of  them  separately  would  have  attempted. 
Herds  of  cattle  will  thus  repel  the  attacks  of  dogs, 
wolves,  and  even  panthers,  and  will  attack  in  return; 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  293 

while  dogs  and  wolves  hunt  in  packs  and  are  then 
afraid  of  almost  nothing.  So  in  a  human  mob 
the  courage  and  lack  of  responsibility  in  the  members 
individually  is  notorious. 

Cooperation,  however,  as  we  have  noted,  may 
result  in  different  acts  in  different  individuals,  if  these 
individuals  are  not  alike.  Ordinarily,  there  will  be 
groups  thus  formed,  which  groups  will  have  Social 
solidarity.  Thus,  if  a  herd  of  cattle  or  elephants  is 
alarmed,  the  more  strongly  Personal  individuals  are 
aroused  to  advance  upon  the  danger,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  whole  front  of  the  herd  will  be  composed 
of  the  bulls,  while  the  females  and  young  remain 
further  back.  Similarly  in  the  human  family,  the 
mother  will  stand  before  and  defend  the  offspring, 
her  courage  coming  from  the  influence  of  the  Social 
unit  behind  her. 

Or,  again,  some  individuals  may,  through  indi- 
vidual differences,  have  livelier  or  more  active  minds 
than  the  others  and,  thus,  regularly  act  first  or  in 
such  a  way  as  to  be  most  sympathetically  followed. 
Such  individuals  become  leaders.  Canada  geese  fly 
in  wedge-shaped  flocks  with  a  leader  at  the  point  of 
the  wedge.  (This  is  all,  of  course,  a  repetition  of  the 
power  of  leadership  of  the  nervous  cells  in  the  body.) 

As  an  illustration  of  cooperative  division  of  labor 
nothing  is  more  wonderful  than  the  families  of  ants 
and  (especially  well  studied)  of  bees.  Here  there  is 
a  division  of  duties  not  only  according  to  the  three 
sexes,  but  far  more  elaborately.  Certain  individuals 
attend  the  queen,  certain  .others  nurse,  certain  others 


y       J 

s 


294  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

do  the  fighting,  certain  others  keep  the  home  clean; 
certain  bees  seem  to  ventilate  the  hive,  others  make 
wax,  others  go  to  fetch  honey,  pollen,  and  propolis. 
That  these  little  animals,  almost  without  memory, 
certainly  without  reason  in  the  human  sense,  cer- 
tainly without  recognition  of  each  other  individually, 
and  probably  without  leaders  of  any  sort,  should  ac- 
complish these  things  and  more  like  them  is  one  of  the 
marvellous  facts  of  the  world  of  nature. 

We  have  elsewhere  noticed,  however,  that  the  com- 
parison of  these  acts  with  those  performed  by  the 
body  cells,  makes  clear  their  general  nature.  Each 
bee  is  to  be  thought  of  as  a  cell.  Thus  the  queen  and 
the  drones  are  the  Personal  and  reproductive  cells; 
the  nurses  are  the  circulatory  system;  the  cleaners 
are  the  bowels,  bladder,  and  pores;  the  ventilators 
are  the  lungs;  the  wax-makers  are  the  cells  that  pro- 
duce bone,  etc.;  the  honey-preparers  are  the  digestive 
tracts;  the  fighters  and  foragers  are  the  muscular 
cells;  etc.  The  specializations  are  in  general  much 
like  those  of  the  body.  Only  the  nervous  system 
and  brain  seem  lacking.  (In  man,  however,  the 
parallel  is  complete.) 

In  some  of  such  cases  the  decision  as  to  duty 
seems  to  depend  wholly  or  partly  upon  sex  and  age. 
The  leaders  of  the  Canada  geese  and  of  some  other 
birds  are  believed  to  be  the  old  males.  The  so- 
called  ventilators  of  the  beehive  have  been  said  to  be 
the  youngest  mature  workers.  It  is  easy  to  conceive 
that  the  impulses  and  cooperative  actions  of  in- 
dividuals at  different  ages  should  differ,  and  it 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  295 

seems  likely  enough  that  when  Social  units  have 
divisions  of  duties  regularly  carried  out  through  the 
species,  the  differences  should  depend  upon  some 
such  constant  factor.  It  is  probable,  also,  that  there 
should  be  a  natural  physical  rotation  in  certain 
cases.  Making  wax,  for  instance,  might  take  place 
occasionally  as  the  duty  of  every  working  bee.  Of 
course,  there  may  also  be  constant  differences  like 
those  of  sex,  a  constant  variation  less  than  sex,  but 
there  seems  to  be  no  observed  evidence  of  this. 

In  all  cases,  however,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
the  performance  of  these  various  acts  is  Social  and  is 
caused  by  the  Social  instinct.  The  bees  of  the  hive 
are  mutually  assisting  each  other,  and  the  fact  that 
one  does  one  sort  of  task  and  another  another,  must 
not  confuse  us  as  to  the  impulse.  If  any  one  of  the 
different  kinds  of  activities  is  lacking,  the  hive  family 
all  feel  it  and  are  uneasy,  though  of  course  they  can- 
not reason  out  what  the  matter  is.  Nevertheless, 
although  they  cannot  reason,  they  ordinarily  take  the 
proper  method  to  set  things  right.  This  is  notably 
so  when  the  queen  is  lost.  She  is  the  only  repre- 
sentative of  her  kind  in  the  hive,  and  when  her  loss 
is  felt,  the  nurses  are  said  to  begin  shortly  to  develop 
a  new  queen.  The  lack  is  felt,  and  to  the  nurses  an 
egg  is  apparently  the  best  that  can  be  done  to  fill 
the  unsatisfied  impulse.  It  is  treated  accordingly 
half  as  egg  and  half  as  queen,  and  its  future  is  thereby 
changed  from  a  worker's  to  a  queen's. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  in  certain  cases,  at 
least,  duties  may  devolve  upon  those  who  ordinarily 


296  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

would  not  take  them.  If  the  leader  of  a  flock  of  birds 
is  killed  another  takes  the  place.  It  is  fairly  certain 
that  some  of  the  ordinary  duties  about  the  hive  would 
be  performed  by  others  if  at  any  moment  the  in- 
cumbents were  taken  away.  When  the  office  is 
being  well  rilled,  other  suitable  individuals  busy  them- 
selves otherwise.  One  is  reminded  of  the  working 
of  the  brain,  which  though  temporarily  disabled  by 
certain  operations  of  removal  of  parts,  will  often 
recover  normality  by  adapting  other  parts  to  the 
duties  required.  The  cases  in  the  Social  unit — the 
family,  flock,  or  herd  (as,  for  example,  in  posting 
sentinels) — we  reckon  as  repetitions  of  the  cases  in 
the  brain. 

Social  units  regularly  have  the  power  to  complete 
themselves.  The  impulse  is  satisfied  in  definite  units 
and  is  not  to  be  thought  of  as  uncertain  as  to  its 
means  of  satisfaction.  Ordinarily,  the  unit  is  of  fairly 
definite  size.  We  have  already  spoken  of  the  pro- 
duction and  inhibition  of  eggs  as  under  the  control 
of  the  impulse;  and  the  determination  of  sex  may 
also  be  controlled. 

In  certain  cases  the  production  of  the  full  family 
is  impossible,  the  result  being  the  adoption  of  indi- 
viduals of  other  families  or  even  of  those  of  other 
species.  This  may  occur  in  any  animals  as  a  de- 
ceived satisfaction,  as  when  a  hen  mothers  ducks; 
but  it  may  also  be  regular,  in  which  case  we  have  a 
form  of  parasitism.  Thus  the  cuckoo  of  Europe  and 
the  cow  blackbird  or  bunting  of  America  introduce 
themselves  into  other  families,  in  which  they  are  regu- 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  297 

larly  received  through  a  deceived  satisfaction.  Simi- 
larly, the  so-called  slave-holding  ants  (who  have  only 
three  sexes,  namely,  males,  females,  and  warriors,  and 
who  are  none  of  them  able  to  feed  themselves)  fill 
the  family  vacancy  by  conquest,  the  larvae  of  other 
ants  being  brought  into  the  family,  which  larvae  at 
maturity  (by  a  deceived  satisfaction)  take  their  place 
in  the  family  and  care  for  the  helpless  slave-holders. 
Evidently  in  the  case  of  the  cuckoo  the  weak  home 
impulse  is  incapable  of  self-satisfaction  (probably  it  is 
felt  only  just  before  laying  the  egg)  but  is  satisfied 
by  the  nest  of  another  bird;  and  in  the  case  of  the 
ants,  the  lack  in  the  family  unit  provokes  wandering, 
and  is  best  satisfied,  practically,  by  the  larvae  of 
other  species  (the  mature  of  other  species  being  im- 
possible to  get). 

The  strictness  of  the  Social  impulse  as  to  the 
numbers  in  its  unit  is  very  variable.  Ants  and  bees, 
of  course,  have  no  way  of  keeping  count  of  their 
hordes,  though  they  may  feel  very  distinctly  the  lack 
of  proportionate  numbers  in  the  sexes  composing 
them.  Similarly,  also,  even  the  birds  and  many  cats 
and  dogs  do  not  miss  (or  seriously  miss)  a  young 
one  or  two,  if  a  couple  are  left.  It  is  apparently 
on  the  numerical  side  that  the  family  unit  is  least 
definite. 

On  the  other  hand,  Social  units,  like  all  other 
fusions,  have  the  selective  power,  and  are  regularly 
without  foreign  elements.  They  have,  also,  like 
the  lower  fusions,  a  strong  tendency  and  power  to 
eject  foreign  or  impure  parts  (members). 


298  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

The  stronger  Social  units  are  almost  absolutely 
barred  to  outsiders.  Ants  and  bees  regularly  kill 
and  eject  strangers,  even  those  of  their  own  species, 
and  the  same  temper  is  shown  by  herds  of  animals 
and  by  man. 

Outsiders  among  the  ants  and  bees  may  be  dis- 
covered by  smell;  among  cattle  by  memory;  in  man 
by  memory  or  by  their  strangeness  of  action.  Strange- 
ness of  action  may  in  any  case  lead  to  hostility  and 
ejection  by  the  unit.  Thus,  an  injured  or  sick  animal 
is  regularly  ejected  or  killed  among  ants  and  cattle 
and  some  other  animals.  And  the  same  temper  may 
be  exhibited  toward  the  old,  even  among  human 
beings.  Failure  to  cooperate  is  the  Social  crime. 
Sympathy  with  the  physically  incapacitated  is  hardly 
found  among  the  lower  animals,  unless  it  be  in  a 
horror  and  fear  that  leads  to  desertion  or  attack. 
Some  actions  certainly  might  stand  that  interpreta- 
tion. 

The  Social  attack  in  most  cases  differs  in  no  way 
from  the  ordinary  Material-Personal  ones.  The 
only  striking  case  to  the  contrary  seems  to  be  the 
stinging  of  bees  and  ants,  which  is  apparently  of 
Social  origin.  In  the  consideration  of  this  case,  as 
in  previous  similar  ones,  our  principle  must  be  re- 
membered, viz.,  that  a  negative  impulse  cannot  pro- 
duce an  action  of  original  approach.  A  use  of  the 
sting  and  poison-sac  in  positive  approach  must  there- 
fore be  discovered.  In  the  case  of  the  ants  and  bees 
and  wasps  the  poison  seems  uniformly  to  be  used  as  a 
food  preservative.  It  is  comparable  to  the  stinging 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  299 

and  poisoning  of  the  insects  who  produce  the  tree 
galls.  These  actions  seem  to  be  distinctly  Social 
(/.  £.,  they  are  exerted  for  the  family  unit),  and  the 
use  of  the  sting  as  a  weapon  is  to  be  thought  of, 
therefore,  as  negative  Social — at  least  in  origin.  It 
is  notable,  and  a  fact  of  undoubted  significance,  if 
true,  that  the  queen-bee,  though  provided  with  a 
sting,  never  uses  it  (this  is  said  to  be  a  fact),  except 
against  rival  queens,  and  even  then  she  is  not  al- 
lowed by  the  onlookers  to  use  it  unless  she  is  able  to 
kill  without  being  herself  harmed.  This  battle  of 
the  queens,  which  in  descriptions  is  commpnly  given 
a  sexual  (Personal)  tone  and  explanation  (as  in  the 
use  of  the  word  rival),  is  doubtless  Social  and  not 
Personal.  Personality  is  the  bee's  least  fault. 
Similarly,  the  slaughter  of  the  drones  is  a  negative 
Social  act  and  pretty  certainly  not  Personal.  In  both 
cases  the  Social  unit  is  offended  by  the  presence  in  it 
of  certain  individuals.  Those  individuals  must  leave 
or  meet  the  wrath  of  the  Social  impulse. 

The  positive  Social  impulse  is  felt  toward  the 
members  of  the  Social  unit;  the  negative  toward  the 
hindrances  to  the  perfection  of  that  unit;  toward 
objects  and  individuals  outside  the  unit  and  not 
interfering  with  it,  the  impulse  has  commonly  no 
feeling.  This  indifference  is  in  practice  largely  a 
matter  of  locality.  Indeed,  the  Social  impulse  itself 
is  largely  a  matter  of  locality,  and  it  is  found  in  gen- 
eral that  with  animals  that  have  little  or  no  memory, 
there  is  no  apparent  recognition,  cordial  or  hostile, 
at  a  distance  from  the  nest.  Stranger  and  brother 


300  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

are  apparently  alike  to  the  busy  bee  or  ant  on  an 
expedition.  They  seem  indifferent  to  everything 
except  the  business  or  pleasure  in  hand. 

Nevertheless,  there  are  apparent  exceptions  to  the 
indifference  of  animals  to  strangers,  and  we  may 
perhaps  class  as  Social  certain  seeming  race-antagon- 
isms, such,  for  example,  as  that  between  the  dog  and 
the  cat,  the  chicken  and  the  hawk,  and  the  like. 
These  look  like  hostility  of  race.  They  seem  to  be 
intuitive  and  not  to  rest  distinctly  upon  any  danger 
incurred  in  experience.  In  the  case  of  the  hawk, 
however,  the  element  of  experience  may  enter  in, 
for  various  species  of  birds  have  a  signal  in  common 
for  the  hawk,  and  the  various  species  may  learn  from 
each  other,  and  even  carry  the  information  from  year 
to  year  and  from  generation  to  generation.  The 
fear  of  man  is  certainly  taught  in  some  such  way. 

We  come  now  to  a  consideration  of  the  practical 
relations  of  the  Material  and  Personal  instincts  to  the 
Social.  As  has  been  said,  the  Social  instinct  acts  as 
a  distinct  check  upon  their  ordinary  working.  The 
parent  bird  will  sit  on  its  eggs  though  hungry,  will 
bring  food  to  its  young  instead  of  eating  it,  will  face 
danger  instead  of  avoiding  it.  Similarly,  there  is  no 
love  (Personal)  or  rivalry  between  parents  and  young. 

Nevertheless,  the  individual  instincts  are  not  lack- 
ing, and  they  are  ordinarily  stronger  than  the  Social, 
/'.  e.,  they  are  influenced  but  not  destroyed,  and  the 
influence  tending  to  inhibition  is  most  commonly 
evident  when  the  instincts  have  been  partially  satis- 
fied. There  are  doubtless  exceptions,  but  few 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  301 

parents  neglect  to  feed  themselves  before  feeding 
their  young,  few  are  actually  slain  in  defence  of  their 
young,  and  in  general  it  is  not  at  all  a  difficult  thing 
to  split  or  destroy  a  Social  unit,  at  least  for  a  time, 
by  forcing  the  Material  and  Personal  needs  to  the 
front.  Ordinarily,  it  is  true,  the  three  instincts  are 
satisfied  independently  and  without  any  actual  harm 
to  the  Social  unit,  and  without  any  special  interest 
in  details. 

The  following  cases  of  special  interrelation  are 
worth  notice. 

Many  animals,  especially  the  young,  engage  in 
what  is  called  play.  When  there  is  nothing  on  hand 
to  satisfy  the  Material  and  Personal  instincts  (and 
yet  the  Social  instinct  prevents  wandering)  the 
young  will  practise  upon  each  other — fighting,  chas- 
ing, romping,  and  the  like  yet  always  within  Social 
bounds.  The  claws  of  the  kitten  are  kept  in;  the 
teeth  of  the  puppy  do  not  really  bite;  and  so  on. 
The  situation  is  sometimes  described  as  an  over- 
flow, or  ebullition  of  animal  spirits.  The  lack  of 
seriousness  is  implied  in  such  words  as  romping, 
pranks,  sport,  fun,  joking,  games,  and  the  like. 
Sometimes  one  may  suspect  that  the  sporting  of 
young  animals  is  merely  the  best  they  can  do — /.  e.y 
that  it  is  the  acting  of  undeveloped  instincts — and 
this  may  be  so  in  some  cases.  Frequently,  however, 
it  is  not  so,  and  a  little  experiment  makes  it  clear  that 
even  the  young  can  be  serious;  while  the  sports  of 
older  and  mature  animals,  as  when  the  cat  plays 
with  her  kittens,  or  when  two  mature  dogs  play,  is  of 


302  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

course  evidence  that  immaturity  is  not  the  essence 
of  the  phenomena. 

Animal  games  seem  to  be  sometimes  Material  and 
sometimes  Personal.  The  kitten  chasing  its  tail  or 
a  leaf,  or  playing  with  a  string  or  ball,  is  probably 
exercising  Materially.  Similarly,  when  kittens  or 
puppies  chase  one  another,  the  Material  element 
enters  very  evidently.  So,  also,  when  dogs  quarrel 
over  a  stick  or  rag.  This  is  all  a  Material  make- 
believe,  z.  e.,  is  controlled  by  the  Social  impulse. 

Often  enough,  however,  the  games  are  wholly  or  in 
part  Personal,  and  there  is  the  attempt  of  one  to  get 
the  better  of  the  other.  And  these  playful  rivalries 
may  result  in  exhibitions  like  real  rivalries,  in  sulki- 
ness  on  the  one  hand,  glorying  on  the  other,  and 
(with  memory)  a  desire  for  retaliation  in  the  end. 
The  most  notable  case  of  this  is  perhaps  that  of  the 
elephants,  who  are  said  to  play  jokes  on  each  other, 
with  loud  trumpetings  in  case  of  success,  and  a  great 
patience  in  getting  even.  Moreover,  in  this  case  the 
joke  is  not  merely  a  private  affair,  but  is  shared  in, 
through  sympathy,  by  the  other  elephants  who  may 
be  of  the  crowd.  This  will  be  considered  again. 

It  is  curious  to  note  how  the  Social  instinct  of  play- 
fulness may  pass  the  lines  of  mere  species.  Dogs, 
and  in  a  less  degree  cats,  feel  Social  ties  to  humanity, 
and  they  recognize  clearly  the  immaturity  and  play- 
fulness of  children.  Thus,  a  good  dog  or  cat  will 
good-tern peredly  endure  from  children  an  amount 
of  mauling  that  no  mature  person,  except  perhaps 
the  master,  could  think  of  inflicting  with  impunity. 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  303 

Moreover  the  dog  will  often  respond.  A  dog  and  a 
gang  of  street  urchins  mauling  him,  is  a  picture  of  un- 
alloyed brotherly  happiness. 

But  the  Personal  instinct  in  the  Social  unit  has  also 
its  serious  phases.  Among  many  of  the  higher 
animals,  no  two  individuals  can  meet  without  some 
emotions  of  a  Personal  nature;  and  the  Social 
instinct  which  compels  them  to  come  together  often 
acts  with  the  results  of  a  bag  compelling  two  cats  to 
come  together.  Personal  rivalries  and  fighting  are 
thus  far  more  constant  and  violent  in  animals  that 
flock  than  in  those  that  are  not  thus  drawn  together. 
These  rivalries  may  be  either  between  males  or  be- 
tween females,  or  between  males  and  females. 

The  results  of  combats  within  the  community  may 
be  of  two  sorts:  First,  the  males,  being  violent  and 
often  unafraid,  may  fight  until  all  except  one  are 
killed  or  driven  from  the  flock.  It  is  thus  that  the 
condition  called  polygamy  arises  in  wild  nature. 
Whether  animals  shall  be  polygamous  or  not  is  thus 
an  indirect  and  somewhat  mechanical  matter.  Pos- 
sibly all  males  are  potentially  polygamous.  The 
domestic  duck  and  the  canary  are  polygamous  in  the 
artificial  communities  of  the  barn-yard  and  cage, 
though  not  so  in  freedom. 

Another  result  occurs  when  through  memory  the 
results  of  struggles  are  remembered,  and  the  de- 
feated antagonist  avoids  the  victor,  whenever  neces- 
sary. Thus  there  may  come  to  be  a  regular  under- 
standing in  a  herd  or  flock,  each  individual  knowing 
its  superiors  and  inferiors  in  combat.  It  is  said  that 


304  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

when  a  strange  cow  enters  a  herd  she  may  have  to 
fight  each  of  the  other  cows  to  some  conclusion  be- 
fore she  can  have  peace;  and  the  cows  may  take  the 
same  course  with  a  new  bull  when  he  is  brought  in. 

THE    RECOGNITION-SOCIAL    INSTINCT 

Although  the  Recognition  grade  of  the  Social 
instinct  must  be  of  great  importance  in  any  practical 
use  of  our  theory,  since  Recognition  memory  enters 
into  the  phenomena  of  all  the  Social  units  of  the 
higher  animals,  yet  it  offers  no  details  for  our  special 
consideration  here.  Several  cases,  which  it  seemed 
best  to  note  in  passing  under  the  head  of  the  Practical- 
Social,  have  already  been  mentioned.  Others  may 
be  noted  under  the  Thought-Social.  Probably  no 
great  intelligence  will  be  required  to  adapt  this  grade 
to  practice  when  necessary. 

•if' 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  (CONTINUED) 
THE   THOUGHT-SOCIAL   INSTINCT 

OF  all  the  instincts  none  takes  so  many  forms  with 
the  advent  of  thought  and  invention  as  the  Social. 
The  practical  world  of  man  is  built  upon  it  far  more, 
even,  than  upon  the  Material,  for  it  is  not  only  itself 
the  greatest  of  the  instincts,  but  it  has  made  Material 
progress  possible  and  it  has  tempered  and  adapted 
the  Personal. 

Its  working  is,  of  course,  similar  to  that  of  the 
other  instincts.  It  classifies  all  memories  according 
to  their  Social  interest;  arrives  at  definite  likes,  dis- 
likes, wishes,  and  desires;  and  proceeds  finally  to 
distinctions,  finer  classifications,  inventions,  thoughts, 
and  systems.  All  thoughts  having  Social  bearings 
are  thus  wholly  or  in  part  its  work.  So  much  more 
has  it  done  than  could  be  illustrated  in  the  discussion 
of  the  Body  and  Practical  grades  that,  at  the  risk 
of  some  repetition,  we  will  run  over  some  of  the 
details. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  man  is  a  Social  animal. 

305 


306  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

The  presence  or  absence  of  his  fellows  are  matters  of 
real  concern  to  him.  There  is  in  him  an  undeniable 
impulse  that  is  satisfied  when  he  is  a  member  of  some 
Social  organization.  Hence  a  real  discomfort  or 
fear  in  loneliness,  whether  actual,  or,  more  remotely, 
through  the  neglect  or  avoidance  of  his  fellows. 
Some  of  the  words  used  of  this  state  are:  the  sense 
of  solitude,  desolation,  isolation,  desertion,  abandon- 
ment, or  exile.  Sometimes  the  feeling  connected 
with  the  word  bereavement  is  chiefly  one  of  desolation 
and  desertion,  when  a  part  of  some  Social  unit  is 
taken  away  by  death.  The  feeling  may  have  such 
names  also  as  forlornness,  disconsolateness,  wretch- 
edness, misery,  or  the  like,  though  some  of  these 
words  are  frequently  used  indefinitely  as  to  instinct. 

The  feeling  as  one  of  an  organization,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  one  of  pleasure,  and  may  be  called:  tran- 
quillity, contentment,  placidity,  serenity,  consola- 
tion, or  even  bliss  or  beatitude.  These  feelings  have 
a  distinct  kinship  with  the  Material  feeling  of  physi- 
cal health  and  well-being,  of  which  they  are  a  repe- 
tition. A  common  sign  of  strong  Social  pleasure, 
however,  seems  to  be  tears. 

The  influence  exerted  by  individuals  of  the  posi- 
tive Social  type  may  be  described  as  soothing, 
agreeable,  wholesome,  stimulative,  restful,  restrain- 
ing, or  unexciting.  It  may  be  called  affability  or 
approachableness.  Its  air  is  bland  and  mild.  A 
common  sign  in  speech  is  fluency  and  talkativeness. 
Individuals  strongly  of  this  type  are  not  rare.  The 
classifications  in  their  thoughts  may  be  so  exclusively 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  307 

Social  that  they  may  hardly  distinguish  one  Person- 
ality from  another. 

Of  course,  every  human  being  has  influence,  and 
may  be  affecting,  moving,  pathetic,  and  the  like. 

The  negative  Social  impulse  may  be  called  by  such 
names  as  wrath,  or  indignation,  or,  with  less  activity, 
disgust,  loathing,  abhorrence,  horror,  or  if  it  be  a 
more  continued  state,  malevolence,  misanthropy,  or 
an  anti-Social  desire.  Individuals  of  negative  im- 
pulse may  be  described  as  sinister,  crabbed,  or  hide- 
ous (which  in  this  sense  is  quite  different  from  ugly). 

Some  of  the  conditions  of  the  Social  unit  which 
give  pleasure  to  the  instinct  are  organization,  union, 
unity,  unanimity,  mutualness,  solidarity,  purity  (/.  e., 
exclusiveness),  and  completeness. 

The  essential  acts  of  the  Social  instinct  are:  (i) 
Social  imitation,  aping,  mimicry,  as  found  among 
the  lower  animals  and  in  unreasoning  man;  (2)  co- 
operation, aid,  assistance,  helpfulness,  obligingness 
neighborliness,  brotherliness,  fraternization,  obedience 
(with  or  without  a  Personal  element, 'i.e.,  there  may, 
but  need  not,  be  Personal  or  Material  fear  seconding 
the  Social  impulse),  service,  and  the  like;  (3)  sym- 
pathy, congratulation,  solicitude,  pity,  condolence, 
compassion,  commiseration,  appreciation,  consid- 
erateness. 

Sympathy  with  private  ills — sickness  and  the  like 
— is  little  developed  below  man.  In  actual  danger 
assistance  is  always  likely  to  be  at  hand,  for  there  is 
an  evident  attack  upon  the  organization.  But  wounds 
and  disease  and  pain  arouse  painful  sympathy  with- 


308  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

out  suggesting  any  way  of  meeting  the  situation. 
Thence  fear  and  panic.  The  ants  shake  to  death  a 
wounded  companion;  cattle  gore  to  death  a  bleeding 
member  of  the  herd;  men  desert  the  sick  and  help- 
less. Helpful  sympathy  in  these  cases  comes  largely 
through  memory.  Having  deserted  the  sick  or  un- 
fortunate, we  are  not  loosed  of  them  if  we  remember 
them  and  imagine  their  loneliness  and  pain;  and  this 
memory  and  imagination  rouses  us  again  to  cooper- 
ation and  helpfulness,  and  we  return  and  do  what  we 
can.  The  panicky  state,  however,  is  not  infrequent 
even  then,  and  there  are  those  who  out  of  sheer  help- 
lessness and  Social  fear  will  bully  and  brow-beat  and 
even  shake  the  sick.  Lubbock1  relates  that  the 
Feegeans  bury  alive  their  old  or  sick  parents,  and  this 
may  come  under  this  head.  Desertion  is  ordinarily 
the  worst  that  is  done,  and  this  is  not  uncommon  even 
among  civilized  men.2 

It  should  be  noted,  however,  that  reason  and  ex- 
periment have  given  us  quite  a  different  conception 
of  diseases  from  that  held  by  the  savage  and  the 
ignorant.  Sickness  is  no  longer  mere  mystery;  and 
the  means  of  aiding  the  sick  are  in  many  cases  well 
known.  Thus  the  situation  becomes  more  like  other 
attacks  upon  individuals,  and  may  even  (in  infec- 
tious cases)  be  viewed  as  a  real  attack  upon  the 
whole  Social  unit.  Helpfulness  is  then  much  more 

1  Quoted  by  Darwin,  "Descent  of  Man,"  Vol.  I,  p.  74. 

3  Elsewhere  we  have  suggested  another  explanation  of  the  ferocity 
seen  among  animals  in  these  cases.  Both  causes  may  be  at  work. 
In  the  case  of  old  age,  the  other  explanation,  i.  e.,  that  old  age  is  non- 
cooperative,  seems  the  true  one. 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  309 

normal  and  natural,  and  may  require  no  strong  or 
determined  reasoning  or  memory. 

The  quality  of  the  Social  instinct  now  demands 
our  attention. 

Each  of  the  instincts  contains  within  it  a  certain 
imperiousness.  We  must  eat,  we  must  win.  We  are 
heartbroken  at  the  loss  of  a  friend  or  a  lover  or  a  sum 
of  money  or  a  home.  But  the  Social  instinct  differs 
somewhat  from  the  others.  In  the  first  place,  help- 
fulness is  of  no  plain  and  direct  advantage  to  us, 
while  money  and  food  and  women  (or  men)  are. 
The  compulsion  that  says  we  must  be  helpful  seems 
thus,  when  reasoned  upon,  different  and  even  "  mys- 
terious." Moreover,  it  is  the  only  one  of  the  instincts 
that  our  neighbors  can  compel  us  to  observe.  Our 
dinners  and  our  loves  may  be  none  of  their  business, 
but  if  we  transgress  or  fall  short  of  our  Social  duties, 
our  neighbors  are  actively  concerned  and  we  admit 
their  right  to  be  so.  It  is  probably  from  the  latter 
fact  that  the  Social  impulses  are  obligations  and 
duties,  and  are  enforced  by  the  word  ought.  These 
words  imply  that  we  owe  it  to  others  to  do  certain 
things. 

Consideration,  moreover,  showed  reasoning  man 
that  these  words  might  be  used  not  merely  of  what 
the  community  may  violently  enforce  but  quite  as 
much  of  those  inner  and  lesser  Social  cooperations 
of  which  the  community  may  never  by  any  possi- 
bility know.  Thus  we  ought  or  must  be  sympa- 
thetic; thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor;  etc.  Indeed, 
with  a  large  number  of  people,  the  sympathy  and 


310  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

love  are  thought  to  be  the  whole  thing,  and  helpful- 
ness and  cooperation  are  not  thought  of  as  really 
connected  with  the  duty.  Thus  duty  often  ceases  to 
be  actively  Social. 

We  shall  consider  later  some  of  the  phases  of  the 
effect  of  reasoning  upon  Social  ideas;  but  we  may 
note  further,  at  this  point,  that  all  instinctive  prompt- 
ings, when  carried  in  memory,  tend  to  become  some- 
what abstract.  Thus  the  Material  becomes  a  love  of 
truth,  and  the  Personal  an  ideal  love  (such  as  Dante 
wrote  of).  In  the  case  of  the  Social,  the  abstraction 
is  the  love  of  goodness.  Some  of  its  vagueness  is 
doubtless  due  to  the  numberlessness  and  variety  of 
the  situations  in  which  it  is  aroused.  (It  should  be 
remembered  that  the  thoughts  connected  with  an 
instinct  are  derived  wholly  from  experience).  An 
impulse  roused  by  a  thousand  different  individuals 
separately  in  many  special  cases,  and  by  a  consid- 
erable number  of  organizations  (e.  g.,  family,  city, 
tribe,  society,  guild,  etc.),  is  sure  to  remain  uniden- 
tified (though  not  less  active  on  that  account)  for  a 
long  time.  Socrates  is  sometimes  said  to  have  dis- 
covered it  for  the  Greeks.  Among  the  Hebrews  it 
was  always  somewhat  vague,  and  was  supposed  to 
be  aroused  by  the  thought  of  God,  rather  than  by 
the  thought  of  our  fellow-men.  This  confusion  re- 
sults, moreover,  in  the  unconscious  broadening  of  the 
Social  field,  since  men  often  acknowledge  Social 
claims  where  there  are  none,  e.  g.,  in  Material  and 
Personal  matters;  and  this  result  reacts  again  upon 
the  Social  conception,  making  it  still  more  vague. 


"-WL^  /^ 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  311 

There  is,  however,  another  question  to  be  faced, 
namely,  that  with  regard  to  the  superiority  of  the 
Social  to  the  two  other  instincts.  The  Social  indu- 
bitably holds  this  position  even  among  savages.  The 
explanation  of  this  probably  lies  also  in  experience 
and  thought 

The  man  who  has  satisfied  his  Material  or  Personal 
instincts  and  thereby  has  worked  against  the  Social, 
will  evidently  have  a  Material  or  Personal  satisfac- 
tion and  a  Social  dissatisfaction.  In  a  short  time  the 
satisfactions  will  ordinarily  grow  dim  in  memory; 
the  Social  dissatisfaction  on  the  other  hand  may  be 
kept  very  much  alive  by  all  the  other  members  of  the 
community,  since  their  lasting  displeasure  may  have 
been  aroused.  Evidently  a  momentary  satisfaction 
is  not  worth  while  at  such  a  price,  unless  one  cares 
little  for  Social  matters,  /'.  e.,  unless  one  has  a  dis- 
tinctly weak  Social  instinct.  Hence  among  savages 
the  superiority  of  the  Social  to  the  other  instincts  is 
recognized  only  in  certain  matters  which  the  com- 
munity insists  upon;  and  for  most  civilized  men  the 
same  is  true.  If,  however,  any  individual  be  Social 
and  thoughtful,  the  offence  may  be  felt  in  an  exactly 
similar  way  even  without  the  blame  of  the  commu- 
nity, for  the  Social  sense  is  notably  constant,  and  the 
presence  or  even  the  memory  of  one's  fellow-men  is 
always  keeping  it  alive,  and  with  it  the  dissatisfaction 
of  having  offended  it  and  been  untrue  to  it.  The  su- 
perior importance  of  the  Social  issues  is  thus  a  fact, 
and  experience  will  teach  it  even  to  a  child.  Good- 
ness pays,  both  in  the  external  world  and  in  the  inner 


312  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

world  of  thought.  On  the  other  hand,  Material  and 
Personal  disappointments  are  ordinarily  either  not 
so  serious  but  that  they  can  be  forgotten  in  other  mat- 
ters of  the  same  sort  (and  in  any  case  the  community 
is  not  always  reminding  us  of  such  griefs),  or  else  by 
ingenuity  they  may  be  satisfied  without  harm  to  our 
Social  issues. 

We  hold,  then,  that  the  recognition  of  the  compara- 
tive value  of  the  instincts,  as  well  as  that  of  the  qual- 
ity of  the  Social  instinct  (namely,  that  we  ought  to 
follow  it),  is  the  result  of  experience  and  thought. 

It  should  be  noticed  that  cooperation  and  sym- 
pathy are  native  and  intuitive  in  man.  They  are  often 
spoken  of  as  elaborate  states  of  mind,  but  this  is  not 
regularly  so.  Social  cooperation  and  sympathy  is 
not  imitative  imagination;  and  does  not  "put  itself  in 
their  place," i.e., imagine  how  others  must  be  suffering 
or  rejoicing.  It  does  not  ordinarily  go  outside  of  it- 
self in  any  way.  It  is  a  difficult  feat  of  imagination  to 
put  oneself  in  another's  place,  and  when  we  try  it,  we 
are  conscious  that  it  is  an  act  of  reason  and  imagina- 
tion and  not  the  common  helpful  frame  of  mind  at 
all.  Helpfulness  and  sympathy  are  originally  direct 
and  without  thought — which,  of  course,  does  not 
mean  that  thought  on  such  matters  is  uncommon  or 
useless,  for  thought  helps  all  the  instincts  to  clearer 
and  better  satisfactions. 

Neither  is  the  Social  instinct  to  be  evolved  out  of 
prudence,  though  some  theorists  have  wished  to  have 
us  believe  so.  It  is  not,  for  instance,  the  result  of 
habitual  living  up  to  a  contract  of  mutual  defence. 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  313 

The  man  who  follows  certain  laws  because  he  knows 
he  will  be  happier  and  safer  thereby,  is  not,  in  so  far, 
good;  he  is,  rather,  reasonable,  /'.  e.,  Material.  He 
is  not  the  man  who  will  spring  into  the  river  to  save 
a  drowning  person,  or  let  himself  be  persecuted  or 
burned  for  righteousness'  sake.  The  man  who  walks 
into  the  fire  is  not  the  evolution  of  a  prudential  past, 
he  is  following  an  irresistible  impulse  and  leading. 
"There  I  stand;  I  can  do  naught  else;  God  help  me." 

The  irresistibleness  of  the  Social  impulse  depends, 
of  course,  upon  its  strength  as  compared  with  the 
others.  The  quality  of  oughtness,  however,  is  not 
so  dependent.  It  is  present  in  all  consciously  Social 
acts,  both  small  and  great.  It  is  equally  present  in 
men  who  go  against  it  every  time  the  other  instincts 
lead  them  so.  A  considerable  percentage  of  men  and 
women  go  into  evil  with  perfectly  clear  feelings  that 
it  is  wrong  and  inadvisable;  not  infrequently  they  do 
it  rebelliously.  They  know  the  good;  they  follow 
the  bad.  The  spirit  is  willing  (Social),  but  the  flesh 
is  weak  (Material  and  Personal). 

Oughtness  is,  then,  the  essential  quality  of  the 
impulses  of  the  Social  instinct.  Its  acts  have  the 
essential  quality  of  Tightness;  its  distinctions  are 
moral.  The  instinct  itself  is  the  sense  of  duty,  right, 
obligation.  Its  control  over  our  acts  and  its  distin- 
guishing of  what  is  unsatisfactory  and  what  satisfac- 
tory to  it,  it  is  called  conscience.  Dogs  are  believed 
by  many  observers  to  possess  what  may  fairly  be 
called  a  conscience. 

As  the  Material  instinct  is  in  a  general  way  what  is 


314  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

meant  by  the  word  mind  or  reason,  and  the  Personal 
instinct  what  is  meant  by  the  heart,  so  the  Social  in- 
stinct with  its  superiority  is  what  is  often  called  the 
will.  Much  confusion  arises  from  all  three  of  these 
words.  All  of  the  instincts  reason,  each  according  to 
its  interests;  all  of  the  instincts  are  strongly  impulsive 
and  keenly  alive  to  pleasure  and  pain,  each  in  its  own 
range;  and  any  one  of  the  three  may  be  determined 
and  strong,  and  may  overcome  the  others — and  action 
and  thought  are  never  performed  in  any  other  way. 
Hence  we  find,  in  the  mouths  of  these  reasoners,  the 
applications  of  the  words  mind,  heart,  and  will, 
constantly  slipping  from  the  doings  and  thinkings 
of  one  instinct  to  those  of  another,  and,  what  is 
worse,  carrying  their  other  implications  with  them. 
Preachers,  for  instance,  tell  us  that  we  must  feel  a 
Personal  love  toward  God;  when  what  they  might 
say,  and  perhaps  do  mean,  is  that  we  must  join 
with  God  to  bring  about  the  moral  improvement  of 
the  world.  The  former  statement  is  a  self-contradic- 
tion; the  latter  will  arouse  not  rebellion  but  the  im- 
mediate and  complete  assent  of  every  Social  believer 
in  a  God.  Personal  love  knows  no  "must",  and  can 
be  aroused  only  by  attractive  Personal  traits,  or  by 
sympathy  with  some  one  else  who  loves. 

In  the  same  line  of  misconception  is  the  confusion 
arising  from  an  indiscriminate  use  of  the  words  love 
and  hate.  Each  of  these  may  be  used  with  each  in- 
stinct, and  some  interesting  discrepancies  of  custom- 
ary thought,  and  perhaps  some  clarifying  and 
strengthening  of  convictions,  might  result  if  we  had 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  315 

three  words  instead  of  one.  For  instance:  "Love 
(Socially)  those  that  hate  (Personally  ?)  you;  love  (So- 
cially) and  hate  (Socially)  not."  "Thou  shalt  love 
(Socially)  thine  enemy  (whom  thou  hatest  Person- 
ally?)." It  would  assuredly  strengthen  and  purify 
the  church  if  it  could  lessen  in  itself  the  Personal  ele- 
ment that  is  now  so  strong,  and  become  more  purely 
and  warmly  Social. 

Social  unity  is  accomplished  by  the  mutual  coop- 
eration of  the  members  of  the  unit.  This  means  a 
certain  averaging  up  of  the  members,  and  a  consid- 
erable yielding  of  the  individual  impulses  (Material 
and  Personal  and  even  Social)  in  so  far  as  they  con- 
flict with  the  impulses  of  the  unit  as  a  whole.  Good 
Social  traits  along  these  lines  are  named  as  follows: 
adaptability,  tractability,  amenableness,  compliance, 
self-denial,  self-sacrifice,  abnegation,  consideration, 
disinterestedness,  willingness,  the  sense  of  obliga- 
tion, obedience,  docility,  teachableness,  mindful- 
ness,  unselfishness,  moderation,  temperance,  mod- 
esty, and  the  like.  Some  of  these,  as  docility  and 
teachableness,  belong  also  to  the  lower  animals,  and 
it  may  be  noted  in  this  connection  that  all  of  our 
domestic  animals  are  gregarious,  i.  e.,  Social.  The 
cat  is  least  so  of  all,  and  is  also  least  teachable, 
though  by  no  means  least  intelligent. 

With  the  entrance  of  thought,  men  (and  to  some 
degree  the  lower  animals)  are  Socially  influenced,  as 
we  have  already  noted,  not  only  in  the  sensual  pres- 
ence of  the  community,  but,  through  memory,  at  all 
times.  Hence  the  sense  of  responsibility,  answerable- 


316  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ness,  dutifulness,  scrupulousness,  reliability,  inno- 
cence, honesty,  integrity,  probity,  high-mindedness, 
self-respect,  virtue,  purity,  goodness,  and  morality 
generally. 

Through  memory  and  thought  and  the  sense  of 
constant  obligation  arises  the  sense  of  morality  as  a 
thing  somehow  different  from  the  love  of  and  the 
cooperation  with  mankind.  This  arises,  in  part,  as  we 
have  said  elsewhere,  from  the  lack  of  evident  Mate- 
rial or  Personal  advantage  in  most  of  the  Social  acts; 
in  part,  also,  from  the  vagueness  of  the  motive  in  all 
impulses  when  they  become  pure  thought  (and,  of 
course,  no  instinct  contains  in  it  the  thought  of  its  ob- 
ject); in  part,  also,  from  the  observation  that  in 
actual  life  all  human  relations  are  mixed  with  Personal 
and  Material  motives  and  are,  therefore,  unsatisfac- 
tory, whereas  the  imagined  virtue  is  not  so  mixed. 
It  arises,  finally,  also  because  in  thought  many  mat- 
ters of  no  plain  Social  import  may  be  debated,  as  for 
instance,  the  best  means  to  arrive  at  peace  of  con- 
science. Thus,  the  curious  result  has  been  reached 
that  men  of  great  Social  yearnings,  feeling  that  their 
fellow-men  were  always  leading  them  astray,  and 
that  the  world  was  no  place  where  perfect  purity  of 
conscience  could  be  obtained  or  kept,  have  often 
sought  entire  separation  from  their  fellow-men,  and 
have  thus  attempted  to  bring  about,  through  strenu- 
ous self-discipline  and  in  the  absence  of  temptations, 
the  utter  yielding  of  the  mind  and  heart  to  a  more  or 
less  dimly  conceived  better  world  or  good  God.  The 
fertility  of  the  mind  in  this  position — carried  through 


THE   SOCIAL   INSTINCT  317 

with  wonderful  consistency,  considering  the  probable 
absence  of  psychological  .analysis — was  admirable. 
Anything  arousing  the  lower  forms  of  the  Material 
and  especially  the  Personal  instincts,  was  pretty 
surely  recognized  instinctively  as  evil.  Of  course,  it 
was  early  recognized  that  thoughts  might  be  evil  and 
might  weigh  on  the  conscience  just  as  physical 
actions  do. 

Such  a  position  is  in  general  an  impossible  one. 
The  Social  instinct  cannot  be  satisfied  by  solitude, 
although  solitary  reflections  on  an  ideal  state  and  a 
better  world  undoubtedly  strengthen  and  fortify  (by 
making  clear)  our  Social  thoughts,  and  through  them 
our  Social  acts.  The  monastic  or  hermit  life  failed 
also  to  satisfy  the  Material  and  Personal  instincts, 
but  in  a  distinctly  less  degree,  since  these  instincts  re- 
quire no  cooperation.  Hence  the  monks  were  more 
apt  to  turn  in  those  directions.  They  became  in 
many  cases  tremendously  learned  (which,  however, 
along  certain  lines,  may  be  Social  in  part  as  well  as 
Material),  or  else  their  thoughts  of  God  became  in- 
tensely Personal.  He  (or  she,  in  Mariolatry)  became 
the  adored  object  of  beatific  visions;  and  the  world 
was  quite  forgotten  in  flagellations  and  dreams  that 
had  often,  apparently,  not  a  trace  of  the  Social  ele- 
ment in  them.  It  can  hardly  be  doubted  that  these 
sides  of  hermit  life  are  and  were  the  most  nearly  sat- 
isfactory. Even  good  Thomas  a  Kempis  rises  into 
unwonted  ecstasy  in  the  Personal  relation  toward 
God,  though  he  believes  the  same  instinct  a  grievous 
sin  when  aroused  normally. 


318  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

For  our  practical  consideration  the  chief  point  we 
wish  to  make  is  that  not  only  are  we  bound,  through 
Social  memory,  to  act  Socially  and  think  Socially 
when  the  Social  unit  is  not  sensually  influencing  us, 
;'.  e.,  we  are  bound  by  it  at  all  times;  but  we  are  also 
able,  through  Social  reason,  to  conceive  of  a  Society 
that  is  better  than  that  about  us — unhampered  by 
the  natural  obstructions  and  inevitable  compromises 
of  the  real  world.  In  other  words,  we  perceive  that 
the  promptings  of  helpfulness  and  cooperation  and 
goodness  might  go  much  further  than  they  do.  The 
Social  sense  itself  is  thus  the  highest  court  of 
appeal,  and  may  command  with  its  must  and  ought 
far  beyond  what  men  generally  may  perceive  is 
best. 

The  problem  of  the  satisfaction  of  the  Social  in- 
stinct by  means  of  human  organizations  is  one  of  ex- 
treme difficulty.  Human  history  is  full  of  the  wrecks 
of  Social  experiments,  and  human  progress  has  been 
and  is  slow  and  uncertain  because  of  the  inevitably 
enormous  number  of  the  practical  details  in  the  task. 
Not  only  are  there  certain  difficulties  arising  from  the 
character  of  man  (which  difficulties  we  will  presently 
discuss),  but  the  essential  bearings  of  many  acts  can- 
not be  made  clear  without  long  and  perhaps  danger- 
ous experiments,  which  after  all,  may  be  of  doubtful 
interpretation  at  the  time  of  their  completion,  and 
indeed  forever.  Nevertheless,  in  the  course  of  ages 
the  Social  sense,  inventing  and  experimenting  and 
reasoning,  gradually  sifts  much  of  the  good  from  the 
bad  and  accumulates  invaluable  results,  putting  its 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  319 

decisions  into  the  form  of  customs,  usages,  regula- 
tions, laws,  governments,  and  the  like,  which  facilitate 
that  smooth  action  of  Society  that  is  called  order. 
From  this  point  of  view  a  good  Social  trait  is  regu- 
larly formality  and  the  love  of  forms.  The  Social 
man  of  experience  is  deferential  and  respectful  to 
constituted  Social  laws  and  usages  and  thoughts. 
His  feeling  may  even  be  veneration  or  reverence. 

Formalism  in  thought  has  many  curious  results, 
since  men  who  accept  thoughts  because  of  Social 
considerations,  very  commonly  accept  them  quite  un- 
critically, and,  as  a  result,  may  never  really  join  them 
vividly  with  any  impulses,  or  make  them  of  effect  in 
action.  For  the  man  who  accepts  his  thoughts  Social- 
ly, will  also  accept  his  manner  of  daily  life  Socially; 
and  will  fear  oddness  or  queerness  in  one  quite  as 
much  as  in  the  other.  Consistency  has  ordinarily 
nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  Many  striking  de- 
ceived satisfactions  come  under  this  head.  Thus, 
Christianity  is  rarely  a  living  force  except  in  so  far  as 
the  community  adopts  details  of  it;  and  no  incon- 
sistency is  commonly  felt.  Thus,  also,  we  may  notice 
that  the  gap  between  English  governmental  theory 
and  practice  is  enormous,  but  not  ordinarily  felt  by 
Englishmen.  In  short,  the  religious  beliefs  and  gov- 
ernmental theories,  and  even  the  school  teachings  of 
any  nation  or  community,  are  not  to  be  taken  as 
trustworthy  evidence  of  the  manner  of  life  in  the 
organization.  The  example  of  Zeus  did  not  justify 
the  evil  of  licentiousness  among  the  Greeks,  any 
more  than  the  example  of  Christ  would  justify  a 


320  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

modern  clergyman  in  the  good  but  extraordinary 
act  of  dining  with  harlots. 

If,  now,  the  Social  bearings  of  certain  problems, 
perhaps  ancient  ones,  becomes  clearer;  or  if  some 
man  of  keen  Social  sensitiveness  or  excellent  Social 
reason  looks  more  deeply  and  clearly  into  their  signif- 
icance (some  material  or  historic  change  may  facili- 
tate the  matter),  the  Social  sense  may  view  certain 
old  regulations  with  dissatisfaction.  There  may  even 
come  men  who,  perceiving  clearly  the  evil  of  the  reg- 
ulations, and  feeling  the  Social  impulse  urging  them 
with  its  "must",  will  refuse  to  follow  the  regulations 
any  more.  Such  individuals  (they  may  be  wrong  as 
well  as  right),  are  reformers,  martyrs,  fanatics,  and 
the  like.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  in  so  far  as  they  do  not 
cooperate,  they  are  non-Social  or  bad;  they  there- 
fore have,  in  the  beginning,  all  good  people  against 
them.  In  the  end  they  can  reach  a  position  of  Social 
rest  if  they  can  make  others  see  that  the  Social  in- 
stinct in  all  men  will  be  better  served  and  more  fully 
satisfied  by  the  proposed  new  custom.  Hence  the 
true  reformer  is  likely  to  suffer  much,  for  he  is  keenly 
Social  and  the  position  of  outcast  is  as  hard  to  bear 
as  any  suffering  can  be  for  him;  and  meantime  the 
desire  to  help  his  fellow-men  is  quite  unsatisfied. 
Nevertheless  "the  imperious  word  ought,"  as  Dar- 
win calls  it,  will  endure  no  compromise;  he  must 
go  on  though  he  be  imprisoned,  mocked,  buffeted, 
hanged,  or  crucified. 

We  may  well  at  this  point  say  a  word  as  to  leaders 
and  leadership.  Leaders  are  those  individuals 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  321 

who,  through  special  force  or  quickness  of  mind  or 
body,  or  special  powers  of  thought  or  invention, 
are  followed  and  cooperated  with  by  the  Social  unit. 
Among  the  lower  animals  the  actions  of  the  Social 
unit  are  for  the  most  part  limited  and  unoriginal.  In 
man,  however,  a  great  mass  of  actions  (those  resulting 
from  memory  and  invention)  are  not  inevitably  per- 
formed. These  depend,  then,  upon  the  peculiar  in- 
dividual gifts  of  some  member  of  the  unit,  and  regu- 
larly cease  with  his  death  or  absence;  though  many, 
through  memory,  are  continued  indefinitely,  especially 
if  they  meet  some  permanent  condition  in  some  for- 
mal way.  In  all  such  cases  leadership  depends  upon 
special  gifts,  which  others  with  less  or  slower  gifts  co- 
operate with.  Leadership  is  thus  a  form  of  original- 
ity and  inventive  power  or  force  along  those  lines  of 
our  nature  that  are  common  to  all  or  to  a  consider- 
able number.  Such  men  may  be  unique,  but  they 
must  be  simple  if  they  are  to  lead  many.  They  need 
not  be  strongly  Social,  cooperative,  or  sympathetic, 
but  they  must  have  such  gifts  that  others  may  co- 
operate and  be  sympathetic  with  them.  A  curious 
result  from  this  last  fact  is  that  it  is  no  unheard-of 
thing  for  the  follower  of  a  great  leader  (after  having 
worked  cooperatively  and  sympathetically  with  the 
master)  to  become  an  even  greater  leader  than  he 
from  whom  he  drew  his  inspiration.  This  is  because 
the  second  is  the  stronger  in  cooperation  and  sym- 
pathy and  adaptability.  One  thinks  at  once  of 
Socrates  and  Plato,  Marlowe  and  Shakespeare,  Cor- 
neille  and  Racine,  Herder  and  Goethe,  and,  per- 


322  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

haps,  John  the  Baptist  and  Jesus.  In  each  of  these 
cases  we  find  a  stubborn  and  inspiring  personality 
followed  by  one  far  more  sympathetic  while  no  less 
great.  Regularly,  however,  the  inspiration  of  a  great 
leader  is  almost  lost  with  him  and  what  remains  is 
pale. 

Social  inability  in  leadership  is  common.  Indi- 
viduals of  inability,  if  somehow  brought  to  the  front, 
are  regularly  unable  to  meet  the  situation,  and  are 
struck  with  fear  or  panic.  This  is  the  ordinary  feel- 
ing of  one  called  upon  to  make  a  speech,  but  is 
often  plainly  evident  in  individuals  employed  in  the 
various  departments  of  public  life. 

We  turn  now  to  the  means  of  cooperation  and 
sympathy  in  the  higher  Social  units.  In  the  lower 
animals,  sympathy,  as  we  have  noted,  comes  about 
through  superficial  cooperation.  The  superficial 
action  brings  about  a  corresponding  frame  of  mind. 
Thus,  in  man  a  human  shriek  will  arouse  a  sympa- 
thetic frame  of  mind  though  the  hearer  may  never 
have  heard  one  before. 

It  is  evident  that  such  native  sympathy  is  strictly 
limited.  Darwin  enumerates  five  different  barkings 
of  the  dog.  Birds  often  have  a  number  of  calls,  each 
with  a  special  feeling  attached  to  it — the  alarm  for 
the  hawk,  for  instance,  is  different  in  many  birds 
from  that  for  terrestrial  marauders.  Moreover,  both 
dogs  and  birds  can  bring  about  cooperation  in  other 
ways,  e.  g,,  by  movements  or  (dogs)  by  odors  or 
warmth.  Ants  are  able  to  accomplish  in  concert  ex- 
cursions for  change  of  residence,  plunder,  or  battle. 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  323 

The  bees  know  when  the  queen  is  gone;  when  to 
swarm;  when  to  kill  the  drones;  etc.  But  in  com- 
plex minds  and  lives  such  as  man's,  these  communi- 
cations of  impulses  would  be  far  from  sufficient.  He 
has,  accordingly,  in  the  course  of  ages,  invented 
sound-symbols,  called  language.  In  every  country 
and  tribe  of  man  these  sound-symbols  are  in  use. 
No  doubt  the  earliest  ones  possessed  a  meaning 
known  intuitively,  but  these  soon  passed  into  those 
whose  significance  had  to  be  learned  through  experi- 
ence, and  then  remembered.  It  is  to  be  noted  that 
language  did  not  arise  through  the  Personal  instinct — 
the  songs  of  birds  or  the  cries  of  other  rutting  animals 
—but  through  the  Social  signals.  Of  course  sex  cries 
might  become  Social  signals.  We  wish  only  to  em- 
phasize the  Social  element  as  the  essence. 

The  difference  between  an  invented  signal  and  a 
natural  one  is  of  course  great.  The  difference  be- 
tween an  intentional  one  and  a  non-intentional  one 
is  perhaps  even  greater,  and  of  course  this  step  had 
to  be  made  first. 

Many  signals  of  the  animals  seem  simply  natural 
cries,  and  not  intentional.  The  "signal"  cry  of  the 
bird  is,  no  doubt,  influenced  by  the  fact  that  she  has 
a  nest  in  the  neighborhood,  and  it  is  plain  that  the 
young  are  affected  by  it,  for  they  will  crouch  and  be 
silent  at  it,  although  perfectly  fearless  of  actual  dan- 
ger. Nevertheless,  though  the  cry  is  Social,  it  is  not 
clear  that  she  is  intentionally  signalling  to  the  young, 
for  she  will  cry  similarly  when  she  merely  has  eggs. 
Of  course,  this  is  not  conclusive,  for  the  eggs  are  also 


324  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

alive,  and  are  so  considered  by  her,  and  what  she 
conveys  is  not  in  any  case  to  be  thought  of  as  advice — 
"Lie  down,  my  dears,  here  comes  the  cat" — but  is 
such  a  communication  as  a  human  shriek  is  to  man, 
a  communication  not  of  a  thought  but  of  an  impulse, 
and  which  each  will  act  upon  according  to  his  Social 
gifts. 

True  speech  must  have  its  origin  in  the  desire  to 
influence.  When,  for  instance,  the  domestic  cock 
clucks  after  having  found  some  bit  of  food,  and  re- 
frains from  eating,  waiting  for  the  hens  to  come,  the 
intention  seems  evident,  though  the  sound  made  is 
natural.  It  is  by  remembering  and  reasoning  upon 
such  situations  that  speech  would  be  invented.  It 
would  thus  begin  with  cries  or  actions  caused  by  rest- 
lessness because  the  unit  did  not  act  as  the  signaller 
did  or  wished;  and  through  memory  and  invention 
it  would  result  in  distinct  signals  for  distinct  acts  in 
which  the  signaller  wished  the  rest  of  the  unit  to  unite 
with  him.  Speech  is  thus  in  essence  not  a  desire  to 
cooperate  with  others,  but  rather  a  desire  to  have 
others  cooperate  with  us,  either  in  act  or  in  thought. 
It  is,  in  short,  the  action  of  a  leader,  of  one  who  feels 
Social  loneliness,  but  for  some  reason  (in  most  cases 
probably  Personal)  calls  others  to  him  instead  of 
going  to  them.  The  essence  of  it  all  is  in  such  a  word 
as  "Help!" 

Language  would  thus  begin  with  exclamations 
that  were  essentially  verbs.  Thus  "  Lions ! "  "  Deer ! " 
or  "The  enemy!"  are  verbs  and  need  nothing  to  give 
them  meaning.  These  would  then  be  varied,  either 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  325 

internally  or  by  additions,  for  such  relations  and  dif- 
ferences as  are  expressed  by  pronouns  and  cases  and 
numbers.  Normally,  such  alterations  would  be  either 
in  a  change  of  vowel  (to  be  heard  afar),  or  in  an  end- 
ing (the  main  syllable  being  most  important  and 
therefore  first  and  clearest).  When,  then,  these 
originally  exclamatory  verbs  began  to  be  joined  with 
each  other  in  complex  ways,  the  result,  though  a 
great  gain,  was  the  notorious  clumsiness  and  repeti- 
tion of  the  simpler  tongues  of  the  world,  for  each 
word  may  express  almost  the  whole  thought  by  itself. 
Hence  the  various  "agreements,"  as  when  a  prepo- 
sition, an  adjective,  and  a  noun  are  required  to  agree 
in  showing  a  relation  that  might  have  been  shown 
once  for  all  by  any  one  of  the  three. 

The  actual  system  of  word-symbols  used  by  man  is 
very  elaborate  and  very  cumbersome  in  all  cases,  and 
there  is  a  great  difference  in  the  power  of  individual 
men  in  handling  it;  but  the  principle  of  its  use  is  the 
same  as  that  of  the  simplest  signals.  The  words  (or 
more  frequently  the  sentences)  having  been  heard 
by  us  in  certain  connections  in  daily  life,  we  imitate 
them  (perhaps  pronouncing  them),  and  each  group 
or  each  word  calls  up  its  proper  memories  and  im- 
pulses. Then  comes  the  attempt  to  cooperate  or 
sympathize  with  the  words  as  a  whole.  This  may  be 
easy,  for  the  sense  conveyed  may  be  very  like  some- 
thing which  we  have  experienced  before  and  which  is 
now  called  up  by  the  words  and  their  impulses.  A 
very  little  imagination  may  then  suffice  to  bring  us 
into  sympathy  with  the  speaker.  It  may,  on  the  other 


326  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

hand,  be  difficult  or  impossible  to  find  the  clew,  for 
we  may  never  have  experienced  anything  like  what 
the  speaker  is  trying  to  bring  us  to,  or  the  words  may 
be  strange.  Imagination  may  then  be  almost  or 
wholly  at  a  loss,  or  we  may  give  an  entirely  incorrect 
sympathy. 

This  general  act  is  the  process  of  understanding. 
It  is  essentially  a  guess.  Out  of  the  funds  of  our  own 
experience  we  attempt  to  reach  the  position  of  the 
speaker — to  act  mentally  with  him.  All  sympathy  is 
at  bottom  a  similar  guess,  and  depends  for  its  worth 
on  the  character  and  experience  of  the  mind  that 
sympathizes.  Thus,  we  all  think  others  are  far  more 
like  ourselves  than  they  really  are.  The  young  man 
with  his  first  idea  is  astounded  to  find  so  many  per- 
sons suddenly  possessing  the  same  idea.  The  young 
Calvinist  who  is  converted,  discovers  with  amaze- 
ment that  the  previously  dry  logic  and  intellect  of 
St.  Paul  is  the  natural  form  of  expression  of  a  heart 
of  passionate  fire.  Experience  of  the  heart  was 
needed  to  show  him  that. 

Much  might  be  said  about  language,  but  we  will 
content  ourselves  with  two  general  observations : 

Language  is  a  Social  invention  that  has  grown  to 
remarkable  perfection,  so  that  now,  with  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  words  at  its  disposal  (in  the  great  Ian- 
gauges),  it  makes  possible  a  most  elaborate  and  fine 
interchange  of  thoughts  and  feelings.  Its  by-prod- 
ucts have  been  the  clearing  up  and  classifying  of  im- 
mense fields  of  human  interest — not  only  Social  but 
Personal,  and  especially  Material.  It  has  made  pos- 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  327 

sible  the  thoughts  of  the  modern  reasoning  man,  for 
words  are  a  kind  of  algebraic  formula  and  represent 
the  great  fusions  of  the  mind,  and  (having  the  power 
to  call  up  those  fusions  in  memory)  keep  them 
steadily  in  mind  through  most  elaborate  evolutions. 
These  great  fusions  are  collected  about  certain  im- 
pulses or  interests  (as  we  saw  in  a  former  chapter) 
with  an  immense  number  of  slighter  and  subsidiary 
impulses  or  interests.  They  are  thus  commonly  im- 
possible of  clear  sensual  representation,  and  the 
word  which  represents  them  may  be  the  only  per- 
fectly clear  sensual  thing  about  them.  Thus,  we  may 
carry  on  a  long  series  of  thoughts  without  a  clear 
sensual  image  of  any  kind  in  the  mind — only  the 
words  being  distinct.  And  this  is  our  common  state 
in  thought.  Nevertheless,  the  impulses  or  interests  of 
the  big  fusions  are  aroused  with  their  words,  more  or 
less,  and  in  a  good  mind  will  object  (be  dissatisfied) 
in  a  moment  if  in  any  way  they  are  used  in  wrong 
classifications.  Thus,  I  may  talk  of  "trees"  without 
a  clear  vision  or  imagination  of  any  tree,  and  of 
course  tree  in  general  cannot  be  clearly  imagined. 
(The  word  calls  up  a  mass  of  objects,  all  of  which  I 
look  at  in  general  with  some  one  interest  or  impulse, 
though  in  minor  matters  they  may  appeal  to  me  very 
differently — there  is,  as  it  were,  a  core  and  a  fringe.) 
If,  now,  some  one  speaks  of  a  "  blue  tree,"  in  a  flash 
the  fusion  objects  and  the  mind  begins  searching 
through  the  details  of  the  mass  of  memories  to  find 
whether  among  them  there  is  one  that  falls  in  with 
the  interest  of  the  great  "blue"  fusion.  But  without 


328  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

words  neither  of  these  fusions,  "tree"  and  "blue," 
could  possibly  be  managed. 

The  other  line  of  discussion  (on  which  also  much 
might  be  written)  is  the  historical.  It  should  be 
noted  that  words  must  be  understood  and  useful  to 
all  those  who  use  them.  The  beginnings  of  lan- 
guage, therefore,  would  be  the  naming  of  persons  and 
things  of  consequence  to  the  whole  community  or  to 
the  family.  Moreover,  since  human  thought  would  of 
necessity  go  and  develop  with  the  words,  human  de- 
velopment, also,  must  be  along  the  lines  that  concern 
the  community  and  the  family.  Thus,  we  find  that  it 
is  not  the  private  and  individual  sides  of  life  that  de- 
velop first,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  until  the  inven- 
tion of  printing  there  was  comparatively  little  indi- 
viduality in  the  world.  It  was  printing  that  enabled 
unusual  men  with  unusual  thoughts  to  reach  and  de- 
velop one  another  all  over  the  world.  This  has  gone 
so  far,  however,  that  at  the  present  day  he  must  in- 
deed be  a  rare  person  who  cannot  find  in  print  the 
bosom  friend  who  will  show  him  things  for  which  he 
has  been  groping — who  will  understand  and  appre- 
ciate and  inspire  and  help  and,  in  a  word,  comple- 
ment him.  Thus  the  words  and  thoughts  of  all 
printed  languages  have  increased  and  multiplied; 
free  thought  has  come  as  a  fact;  and  we  have  all  be- 
come conscious  that  life  and  man  are  more  complex 
than  we  had  thought,  and  not  to  be  settled  of  an 
evening  by  the  study  fire  through  some  simple  for- 
mula. Thus  have  the  development  of  printing  and  of 
individuality  gone  hand  in  hand. 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  329 

An  important  and  oft-discussed  question  arises  in 
this  connection,  namely,  that  of  the  discovery  of 
minds  in  others.  No  instinct  of  itself  gives  any  such 
information.  The  Material,  Personal,  and  Social 
instincts  all  act  in  response  to  (/.  *>.,  are  made  definite 
by)  influences,  but  do  not  discover  anything  except 
as  they  reason  and  invent.  There  is  not  in  any  or  all 
of  them  the  knowledge  that  other  minds  exist,  or 
indeed  any  knowledge  at  all. 

The  simplest  and  most  direct  explanation  seems 
here  the  most  plausible.  Interest  in  others  of  our 
own  kind  is  innate  and  unthinking.  These  individ- 
uals, then,  would  be  classified  together  in  memory  as 
men — those  to  cooperate  with.  The  identification 
of  oneself  as  a  man  would  then  take  place  through 
language,  for  others  would  tell  us  of  it.  When  a  man 
accepts  it  that  he  is  also  John  Smith,  /.  e.y  when  he 
comes  to  the  point  of  saying,  "I,  John  Smith" 
when  he  has  learned,  in  short,  that  his  Material  self 
(I)  moves  also  as  one  of  the  community  under  the 
name  John  Smith,  then  the  result  is  inevitable.  He 
will  inevitably  think  himself  like  the  others — more 
like  them,  in  all  probability  than  he  is,  for  it  is  well 
known  that  no  power  yet  has  given  us  the  gift  to 
see  ourselves  as  others  see  us.  And  the  others,  of 
course,  he  will  think  are  like  him,  far  more  like  him 
than  they  are.  (Children  as  a  rule  appear  to  learn 
their  Social  selves  first,  and  begin  with  "baby" 
before  they  have  thought  enough  to  say  "I",  but 
the  order  of  discovery  of  the  two  selves  is  not  im- 
portant, and  may  vary.) 


330  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

The  theory  that  man  has  an  intuitive  knowledge  of 
the  existence  of  other  minds,  and  the  theory  that  all 
animals  (the  others  as  well  as  man)  examine  them- 
selves and  then  identify  others  by  an  act  of  compari- 
son— these  theories  may  be  dismissed  as  needing  no 
refutation. 

We  now  come  to  a  consideration  of  the  relations  of 
the  Social  unit  to  itself  in  time.  Social  units  in  man 
differ  from  individual  units  in  that  they  commonly 
last  very  much  longer.  The  individuals  die  but  the 
unit  remains.  Through  memory  and  language  the 
acts  of  past  individuals  are  retained  in  the  unit  and 
have  an  influence  in  the  present.  So  that  it  may  be 
said  that  a  human  Social  unit  is  composed  not  only 
of  its  actual  members,  but  also  of  those  who  though 
dead  are  influential  in  memory. 

Memories  of  the  past  are  retained  only  as  they  are 
or  may  be  influential.  There  must  be  a  satisfaction 
of  some  instinct  if  they  are  to  be  held  and  repeated. 
The  interest  may  be  either  Material,  Personal,  or 
Social,  but  the  interest  and  pleasure  must  be  there. 

It  thus  happens  inevitably  that  most  of  the  past  is 
forgotten  and  that  the  portions  sifted  out  and  held  as 
important  and  pleasant  come  to  have  a  purity  and 
consistency  and  a  fitness  to  the  tone  of  the  commu- 
nity (its  impulses  and  desires),  that  is  constantly 
more  noticeable.  Moreover,  as  the  past  is  not  re- 
membered clearly  in  its  unessential  details,  the  actual 
perspective  back  through  the  ages  is  sure  to  be  fore- 
shortened; the  traditions  are  sure  to  come  closer  to 
each  other  than  the  facts  were;  and  in  the  end  they 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  331 

inevitably  collect  either  about  some  age  or  about 
some  few  individuals,  which  ages  and  men  thus  in- 
evitably represent  the  character  of  the  state  or  tribe 
as  a  whole.  (Writing  and  printing,  of  course,  to  a 
great  degree  put  an  end  to  this.) 

Moreover,  it  is  clear  that,  in  the  course  of  time, 
most  of  the  good  and  loved  habits  of  Society  would  be 
traditionary;  while  most  of  the  evil  and  unlovely  ones 
evidently  would  not  be  remembered  as  having  ex- 
isted in  the  far  past  (since  men  would  usually  have  no 
interest  or  pleasure  in  remembering  them). 

Thus,  not  only  do  the  men  of  the  past  appear  to 
have  been  more  perfect  than  those  of  the  present,  but 
the  past  ages  likewise  appear  to  have  been  larger, 
stronger,  braver,  more  intellectual,  virtuous,  fair,  and 
the  rest.  Hence  a  feeling  of  special  reverence  for  the 
past.  Legends  and  history  are  treasured.  A  custom 
has  favor  according  as  it  is  ancient  or  time  honored. 
Precedents  become  arguments.  If  our  fathers  did 
or  thought  so,  it  must  be  right  and  proper.  That 
gods  and  demi-gods,  golden  ages  and  gardens  of 
Eden,  should  be  placed  among  the  ancestors  was  in- 
evitable among  Social  men  with  memory  and  imag- 
ination. Even  now  the  same  forces  are  at  work  in 
the  laudator  temporis  acti. 

This  feeling  toward  the  past  has  lessened  greatly 
in  the  last  hundred  years.  Some  of  the  causes  are  not 
far  to  seek.  Evolutionary  research  has  made  it  clear 
that  man  has  risen  and  not  descended  from  the  past. 
Documentary  evidence,  having  taken  the  place  of 
oral  tradition,  preserves  for  us  the  actuality  of  some 


332  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

of  the  past  ages,  and  we  see  clearly  that  they  were 
worse  in  many  ways  and  not  better  than  ours.  Final- 
ly, we  are  well  aware  that  the  most  valuable  part  of 
our  traditionary  knowledge  is  very  modern  indeed, 
and  was  acquired  even  within  the  memory  of  many 
living  men.  We  are  thus  far  more  disposed  than  was 
any  past  age  to  try  our  hands  at  improvements;  and 
we  perceive  that  tradition  and  precedent  are  often 
unsuited  to  the  new  era  which  is  with  us.  Hence  a 
general-  sifting  and  criticising.  Nevertheless,  the  feel- 
ing of  responsibility  toward  our  past — the  feeling 
that  it  is  part  of  us  and  has  its  rights — remains  and 
will  remain  and  may  grow  stronger. 

Corresponding  to  it  is  the  fact  that  the  Social  unit 
includes  also  the  members  yet  to  come.  They  have 
their  rights;  we  have  our  duties  and  responsibilities 
toward  them.  We  are  bound  to  consider  them  in 
our  present  acts.  The  man  who  says,  "After  me  the 
deluge" — who  does  not  consider  what  sort  of  name, 
position,  or  business,  he  will  hand  down  to  his  chil- 
dren— is  as  evil  or  weak-minded  Socially,  as  the  na- 
tion which  would  do  the  same.  In  general,  indeed, 
the  feeling  of  responsibility  to  the  future  is  probably 
more  constant  and  effective  than  that  to  the  past,  for 
we  see  the  future  growing  up  all  about  us.  Hence  the 
duty  of  instructing  children  and  doing  what  we  can, 
however  mistakenly,  to  make  their  future  comfort- 
able and  happy.  Hence,  not  infrequently,  the  sense 
of  responsibility  restraining  and  determining  men 
who  were  scapegraces  before  they  had  children.  We 
thus  acknowledge  a  duty  to  the  future,  though  it  is 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  333 

usually  not  very  definite  either  in  thought  or  in  com- 
pulsion when  carried  beyond  the  immediately  com- 
ing generation.  We  may  confidently  believe,  how- 
ever, that  it  will  grow  in  proportion  as  the  needs  of  the 
future  are  made  clearer.  These  two  responsibilities 
to  the  past  and  to  the  future  are  undoubtedly  im- 
portant Social  anchors  especially  in  a  progressive  race. 

The  purity  of  the  Social  unit  now  claims  attention. 

As  the  unit  is  formed  by  the  cooperation  of  the 
members  composing  it,  so  the  purity  of  the  unit  is  a 
matter  of  interest  to  all  the  members.  This  purity 
means  that  each  of  the  members  shall  cooperate  with 
the  rest.  "Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor,"  is  the 
Christian  statement  of  it.  There  is  no  other  Social 
demand,  and  the  failure  to  cooperate  is  the  only 
Social  fault.  The  satisfaction  of  the  members  of  the 
unit  in  the  actions  of  any  member  who  cooperates 
and  is  helpful,  etc.,  is  called  accord,  approval,  appro- 
bation, and  the  like.  With  memory,  a  settled  feeling 
of  confidence,  respect,  trust,  and  the  like,  becomes 
established,  and  such  individuals  may  achieve  repu- 
tation, renown,  or  fame,  and  receive  applause,  lauda- 
tion, or  commendation;  while  they  and  their  acts 
may  be  memorable,  notable,  and  the  like.  As  is 
evident  from  these  words,  not  all  individuals  are 
equally  qualified  or  equally  willing  in  Social  matters. 
It  is  the  frequent  lack  that  justifies  the  lively  satis- 
faction. 

The  acts  approved  by  the  Social  instinct  are  called 
right,  good,  fair,  just,  moral,  dutiful,  worthy,  hu- 
mane, helpful,  sympathetic,  honest,  or  pure;  or  they 


334  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

may  be  formal,  seemly,  proper,  and  the  like,  if  they 
are  a  yielding  to  the  sense  of  the  community  rather 
than  evidently  prompted  by  the  thoughtful  Social 
impulse  of  the  individual  himself. 

Impurity  in  the  unit  is  caused,  as  has  been  said, 
by  the  failure  of  any  individual  in  it  to  cooperate  with 
the  rest.  Such  an  individual — one  who  will  not  live 
and  act  as  the  rest  do — is  viewed  by  the  Social  instinct 
as  it  views  an  outsider  or  stranger.  Indeed,  in  most 
cases,  it  is  in  this  way  that  strangers  are  discovered. 
They  do  not  act,  live,  or  perhaps  speak,  in  a  way  to 
get  along  smoothly  with  the  members  of  the  unit; 
they  are  not  in  sympathy  and  do  not  know  how  to  be 
so.  In  the  case  of  strangers,  time  will  usually  over- 
come the  difficulty,  if  time  is  allowed.  Thus,  even  in 
the  case  of  bees,  a  new  queen  may  be  introduced  into 
a  hive  if  she  be  protected  from  the  bees  for  a  few  days. 
This  is  done  by  putting  her  into  a  small  cage  and 
inserting  both  into  the  hive.  After,  a  time  the  bees 
"become  used  to  her" — quite  as  probably  as  she 
becomes  used  to  them. 

The  feeling  of  the  unit  toward  the  individual  who 
fails  in  cooperation  may  be  disapproval,  blame,  dis- 
approbation, or  the  like,  rising  easily  to  resentment, 
indignation,  and  wrath. 

Acts  incurring  the  disapproval  of  the  Social  judg- 
ment may  be  called  faults,  sins  (of  omission  or  of 
commission),  transgressions,  trespasses,  crimes,  vices, 
and  the  like. 

Many  adjectives  qualify  the  sinner  or  the  sin. 
They  may  be  bad,  wrong,  evil,  wicked,  criminal,  de- 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  335 

praved,  infamous,  scandalous,  perverse,  outrageous, 
immoral,  guilty,  foul,  naughty,  polluted,  faulty,  per- 
fidious, malevolent,  or  maleficent;  or  merely  dis- 
cordant, offensive,  excessive,  immoderate,  or  im- 
proper; or  merely  odd,  strange,  or  the  like. 

A  considerable  part  of  the  wrongdoing  of  the 
world  is  caused  by  the  greater  strength  of  the  Mate- 
rial and  Personal  instincts  as  compared  with  the 
Social.  These  instincts  are  then  not  kept  within  the 
bounds  dictated  by  helpfulness  and  sympathy. 

Faults  of  the  Material  instinct  against  the  Social 
may  be  called:  theft,  covetousness,  bribery,  venality, 
usury,  defalcation,  perjury,  swindling,  cheating,  de- 
frauding, vandalism,  and  the  like;  or  nastiness,  and 
the  like. 

Faults  of  the  Personal  instinct  may  be:  immod- 
esty, prudery,  all  sorts  of  sexual  vices — partiality, 
obtrusiveness,  pharisaism,  rebelliousness,  fractious- 
ness,  refractoriness,  forwardness,  frowardness — con- 
tumaciousness,  rudeness,  riotousness,  impudence, 
knavery,  ruthlessness,  rowdyism,  cruelty,  envy,  de- 
traction, animadversion,  backbiting,  disparagement, 
defamation,  unfairness,  slander,  gossip,  fawning,  ser- 
vility, toadyism,  obsequiousness,  shirking,  dronish- 
ness,  negligence,  pauperism,  mendicity.  Other 
words  may  be  found  in  the  chapter  treating  of  the 
Personal  instinct. 

Some  of  the  above  words  are  of  mixed  origin,  as 
are  also  sycophancy,  quackery,  charlatanry,  pander- 
ing, and  doubtless  many  others. 

Not  only  do  the  other  instincts  sometimes  refuse  to 


336  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

be  subject  to  the  Social,  but  they  sometimes  use  the 
Social  for  their  own  ends.  Some  general  names  for 
this  sort  of  fault  are:  hypocrisy,  simulation,  bluff, 
feigning,  guile,  dissembling,  duplicity,  sham,  smug- 
ness, sleekness,  slyness,  oiliness,  time-servingness, 
pretence,  posing,  deceit,  and  perfunctoriness. 

Certain  acts  are  distinctly  offensive  to  the  Social 
unit  as  a  whole,  notably  treason  and  murder. 

There  may  be  a  balance  of  instinct  resulting  in  the 
faults  of  temporization,  evasiveness,  and  the  like;  or 
perhaps  negligence,  tardiness,  and  the  like. 

The  causes  of  criminality  are  various.  Some  un- 
fortunate individuals  are  abnormal,  unnatural,  or 
monstrous.  Bodily  deformity  is  often  a  Social  fault. 
Brain  deformity  may  be  still  more  so.  Instincts, 
again,  may  be  abnormal  and  may  act  wrongly,  /'.  <?., 
the  positive  impulse  may  act  like  the  strongest 
negative.  Abnormal  instincts  are  found  among  the 
animals,  e.  g.,  the  bad  barn-yard  cock,  the  rogue  ele- 
phant, the  lone  wolf,  etc.;  and  in  man,  e.  g.,  the  wife 
beater,  the  criminal  insane,  and  often  the  so-called 
born  criminal. 

Or,  again,  the  Social  may  be  weak,  or  perhaps 
even  lacking.  It  may  also  be  lacking  in  its  higher 
forms,  though  present  in  its  lower  ones,  e.  g.,  in  the 
man  who  will  steal  but  who  is  a  good  husband  and 
father.  Or,  again,  there  may  be  mental  weakness 
and  an  inability  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  the  com- 
plexities of  the  modern  state,  as  in  many  ignorant 
persons  and  in  most  politicians. 

The  ordinary  Social  faults  of  the  ordinary  man, 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  337 

however,  which  are  occasional,  or,  if  customary,  are 
yet  perhaps  of  no  great  seriousness  (frailty  is,  per- 
haps, the  word),  are  commonly  caused  (as  are  also 
many  crimes)  by  the  excess  of  the  other  instincts  over 
a  fairly  strong  Social.  To  some  extent  this  form  of 
fault  is  common  to  all  men.  Thus,  it  is  the  theory  of 
our  jury  system  that  any  man  has  the  proper  Social 
sense  in  matters  that  do  not  concern  him  individ- 
ually, while  no  man  is  to  be  trusted  to  judge  Socially 
where  he  is  himself  concerned. 

The  play  of  the  other  instincts  against  the  Social  is 
called  temptation,  or  seductiveness,  and  results  may 
be  seduction,  backsliding,  corruption,  defilement,  or 
debasement. 

The  quality  of  a  bad  man  may  be:  criminality, 
villainy,  vileness,  rascality,  or  roguery.  The  quality 
of  the  crime:  atrocity,  enormity,  or  ignominy. 

All  acts  impairing  the  perfection  of  the  Social  unit 
arouse  the  negative  Social  impulse.  The  qualities  of 
this  impulse  may  be  strictness,  sternness,  austerity, 
rigor,  severity,  obduracy,  or  implacability.  These 
seem  to  be  the  unmixed  Social  qualities.  With  a 
Personal  element  they  may  become  asperity  or  censori- 
ousness;  with  memory  the  result  may  be  crabbedness 
or  sourness,  amounting  at  last  to  such  moods  as  mis- 
anthropy or  cynicism. 

The  simplest  actions  of  the  negative  Social  impulse 
are  an  attack  upon  the  guilty  individual  and  his  kill- 
ing, or  expulsion  from  the  unit.  The  penalties  of 
outlawry  and  death  are  the  commonest  in  primitive 
Social  organizations,  and  are  regularly  inflicted  even 


338  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

for  comparatively  slight  offences.  In  general,  such 
treatment  is  called  punishment.  When  Society  ad- 
vanced, or  when  the  offence  was  very  slight,  the  pun- 
ishment was  not  so  severe,  and  was  intended  (after 
reason  came  in),  to  warn  the  offender  to  cease  his  evil 
ways.  Herding  animals  are  said  to  attack  unruly 
members  of  their  aggregations,  e.  g.,  dogs  and  mon- 
keys very  notably.  Such  attacks  are  punishment. 
When  the  unit  attacks  wholly  or  in  part  as  a  warning 
to  the  offender,  the  attack  may  be  called  correction. 
In  man  punishments  and  corrections  of  various  sorts 
are  found — either  physical,  as  in  flogging  and  the  like; 
or  mental-physical,  as  in  the  pillory,  or  in  the  segre- 
gation with  education  of  the  workhouse  and  prison; 
or,  almost  wholly  mental,  as  when  the  offender  is 
shunned  and  becomes  an  outcast. 

Verbal  dealing  with  the  offender  is  also  common. 
Punishment  may  take  the  form  of  rebuking,  reprov- 
ing, scolding,  reprimanding  (perhaps  publicly),  exe- 
crating, denouncing,  reviling,  or  the  like.  Milder 
forms  of  disapproval  may  be  protest,  remonstrance, 
reproach,  complaint,  grumbling,  or  recrimination. 

If  for  some  reason,  e.  g.,  a  strong  Personal  or  Social 
feeling  toward  the  delinquent,  the  Social  wrath  be 
overcome,  we  may  have  leniency,  and  toleration — or, 
if  some  punishment  has  already  been  inflicted,  pity, 
placability,  or  resignation  in  the  affair. 

Some  of  the  acts  under  these  circumstances  may 
be  advice,  counsel,  persuasion,  chiding,  or  correction; 
and  after  these  (or  perhaps  without  them),  concilia- 
tion, mitigation,  extenuation,  palliation,  condoning, 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  339 

excuse,  forbearance,  relenting,  indulgence,  recon- 
ciliation, pardon,  forgiveness,  or  purgation,  or  even 
the  granting  of  privilege. 

If  the  Social  instinct  in  the  offender  is  really  strong, 
he  may  ultimately  feel  (either  of  himself,  or,  more 
commonly,  on  feeling  the  disapproval  of  others  and 
finding  himself  more  or  less  an  outcast  or  in  danger), 
disgrace,  shame,  compunction,  culpability,  affliction, 
penitence,  contrition,  regret,  repentance,  remorse,  or 
the  like.  Many  of  these  traits  seem  to  be  found  in 
animals,  at  least  in  dogs.  They  may  show  as  fear  in 
the  presence  of  members  of  the  Social  unit,  the  cul- 
prit being  unable  to  meet  the  situation.  The  man 
may,  however,  attempt  apology,  excuse,  palliation, 
extenuation,  mitigation,  or  the  like.  Or,  admitting 
the  fault,  he  may  attempt  to  get  back  into  the  unit 
through  supplication,  self-abasement,  expiation,  pro- 
pitiation, weeping,  or  the  like — attempting  to  prove 
to  the  unit  that  he  is  worthy  to  be  one  of  them  again; 
to  have  his  fault  forgotten;  etc. 

As  is  by  now  clear,  a  cause  of  intricacy  and  diffi- 
culty in  Social  life  is  the  presence  in  power  of  the 
Material  and  Personal  instincts.  The  man  who 
enters  a  Social  unit  does  not  thereby  give  up  either  of 
these  instincts,  nor  is  there  any  reason  why  he  should 
not  follow  them,  so  long  and  so  far  as  Social  duties 
do  not  conflict.  And  this  he  does.  But  the  Social 
condition  is  thus  a  constant  practical  problem  which 
may  be  stated  as  follows:  "How  shall  we  with  our 
Material  and  Personal  desires  live  together?"  The- 
orists on  the  state  often  quite  lose  sight  of  this  prob- 


340  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

lem — a  fundamentally  practical  one  in  all  commu- 
nities. It  is  usually  clearer,  however,  in  the  minds 
of  lawyers,  a  large  part  of  whose  labors  is  the  adjust- 
ing of  difficulties  arising  out  of  this  state  of  things. 
The  difficulties  are  all  the  greater  because  it  is  no 
easy  thing  to  distinguish  one  impulse  from  another; 
and  because,  even  in  cases  where  men  do  so  distin- 
guish, sympathy  with  one  or  another  party  may  nul- 
lify proper  results.  The  actual  problems  of  living  to- 
gether thus  become  so  confused  and,  in  practice,  so 
impossible  of  solution,  that  human  Society  may  well 
be  described  as  a  huge  daily  compromise,  in  which 
there  is  no  prospect  that  the  Social  forces  can  ever 
completely  conquer.  It  is  not  a  theory  but  a  condi- 
tion that  confronts  us. 

Some  of  the  details  of  the  interworking  and  com- 
promising of  these  instincts  now  claim  our  attention; 
and  first  we  will  consider  human  "games." 

Games  are  of  three  distinct  sorts:  (i)  those  that 
are  imitations  of  the  lives  of  mature  individuals,  and 
are  essentially  Social,  (2)  those  that  are  Material  but 
held  in  bounds  by  the  Social,  (3)  those  that  are  Per- 
sonal but  held  within  Social  bounds.  Not  infre- 
quently a  game  belongs  in  part  to  more  than  one  of 
these  divisions. 

Of  those  of  the  first  sort,  we  may  notice  the  playing 
with  dolls,  the  playing  house,  and  the  like,  in  chil- 
dren. Also,  more  or  less,  the  whole  educational  sys- 
tem of  humanity.  All  this  is  a  play  at  life.  Even  the 
most  absurd  and  curious  educational  systems  of  the 
world  are  supposed  to  prepare  the  young  to  take  a 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  341 

place  later  in  the  affairs  of  the  active  world.  When 
these  games  are  performed  out  of  compulsion  no 
great  good  can  come  of  their  special  forms.  If,  how- 
ever, they  rouse  an  interest,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  they  develop  the  instinct  that  is  interested.  There 
may  even  be  several  instincts  or  varieties  of  instincts 
involved.  Thus,  the  child  with  the  doll  not  only  de- 
velops the  family  Social  instinct  by  imitation  of  the 
grown  folks,  but  she  undoubtedly  satisfies  her  own 
little  maternal  impulse.  In  many  cases,  indeed,  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  she  is  playing  a  game  at  all, 
so  earnest  is  she  and  so  much  of  real  affection  and 
helpfulness  does  she  exhibit.  All  this  is  or  may  be 
purely  Social. 

In  the  case  of  education  there  is  far  more  variety. 
Here  the  foundation  of  the  institution  is  Social,  /.  *-., 
willingness  and  obedience  to  rules;  and  if  the  child 
or  youth  learns  nothing  else  he  may  develop  in  this 
play-world  or  community  a  Social  sense  along  these 
lines.  He  is  expected,  however,  to  use,  in  addition  to 
the  Social  sense,  the  special  instinct  suited  to  the  kind 
of  work  being  done.  Thus  science  and  geography 
and  arithmetic  are  expected  to  interest  him  in  the 
world  of  matter  (Material);  history  and  political 
economy  are  to  interest  him  in  Social  affairs;  while 
literature  may  be  both  Social  and  Personal.  More- 
over, the  grade  of  work  may  interest  him  either  in  the 
Body,  the  Practical,  or  the  Thought  and  Ideal  grade 
of  any  instinct.  A  certain  amount  of  this  grade- 
development  undoubtedly  takes  place,  especially  in 
the  more  advanced  classes.  There  is  probably  not 


342  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

nearly  so  much,  however,  as  is  intended.  Many 
young  persons  are  deficient  in  imagination,  or  in 
preparatory  training,  or  else  the  subject  itself  is 
wrongly  presented,  so  that  a  considerable  part  of  the 
work  of  education  rests  on  the  Social  impulse,  /.  <?., 
on  obedience  and  willingness.  This  is  thought  by 
many  to  be  the  best  way  of  learning:  "Let  the  boy 
work;  it's  good  for  him.  When  he  has  learned  that 
he  cannot  do  as  he  pleases  and  is  willing  to  have  it  so, 
half  of  his  education  is  done."  Half  of  his  Social 
education,  that  is.  Spice  is  thrown  into  the  work,  as 
a  rule,  by  stimulating  rivalry  (Personal).  When  there 
is  no  other  interest,  this  makes  the  work  seem  more 
like  certain  other  games,  and  will  often  arouse  indif- 
ferent pupils — though  neither  knowledge  nor  good- 
ness springs  naturally  out  of  this  source.  It  is  often 
curious  to  observe  how  absolutely  artificial  the  game 
of  education  is,  especially  where  books  and  theories 
are  much  used. 

Of  Material  games  the  purest  examples  are  those 
found  in  education.  Our  educational  systems  are 
probably  far  too  exclusively  Material  as  they  stand 
at  present.  The  Material  element  comes  in  also  in 
many  other  games  (e.  g.,  gambling),  but  in  such  cases 
it  is  not  the  basic  impulse.  Gamblers,  for  instance, 
may  need  money,  but  the  method  is  not  Material  nor 
are  they. 

By  far  the  largest  share  of  what  are  commonly 
called  games  have  the  Personal  interest  and  motive. 
They  are  struggles  in  rivalry.  The  Social  element  is 
the  rules  which  set  bounds  to  the  contest  and  decide 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  343 

the  means  and  methods.  It  is  this  Social  element, 
the  necessity  of  keeping  the  instincts  within  the 
bounds  of  self-control  and  order,  that  is  the  source 
of  most  of  the  educational  value  of  such  games. 
When  the  rules  are  broken  (perhaps  secretly  or  slyly, 
but  always  from  the  Personal  desire  to  win),  games 
are  little  more  than  an  exercise  in  immorality.  In 
many  cases,  however,  there  are  no  rules  except  cus- 
tom or  humanity.  The  object  in  every  case  is  to  put 
the  opponent  to  confusion  by  surpassing  him  either 
in  strength  or  in  skill  or  otherwise. 

The  simplest  forms  of  the  game  are  perhaps  ath- 
letic sports — running,  jumping,  driving,  tossing 
weights,  throwing  the  spear,  archery,  and  the  like, 
in  competition.  In  all  of  these  there  are  rules,  and 
the  one  who  surpasses  others  has  the  right  to  glory 
and  to  be  triumphant. 

As  of  an  equal  grade  of  simplicity  but  without  rules, 
may  be  noted  the  practical  joke,  which  is  a  putting  to 
physical  confusion  through  slyness  or  by  catching  the 
victim  off  his  guard.  There  is  here  no  actual  con- 
test, but  the  fact  that  one  trips  up  the  unsuspecting 
victim  is  an  evidence  of  easy  superiority  which  is 
held  to  justify  glorying,  jeering,  and  laughter. 

Most  games  are  much  more  elaborate  and  demand 
a  considerable  mental  element — and  this  mental  ele- 
ment must  be  Personal  if  it  is  to  be  of  the  best. 
Commonly  there  is  a  mingling  of  the  physical  with 
the  mental,  as  in  football,  baseball,  tennis,  cricket 
boxing,  billiards,  and  the  like.  Often,  as  in  some  of 
these,  the  contestants  are  in  units  which  play  together 


344  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Socially  against  similar  units  or  teams.  Certain  other 
contests  demand  no  physical  skill,  but  are  purely 
mental,  as  chess,  cards,  and  the  like,  and  the  various 
forms  of  guessing  for  a  wager,  called  betting  and 
gambling.  There  are  very  few  kinds  of  contests 
into  which  trickery  and  unfairness  may  not  and  do 
not  enter.  These  are  approved  by  the  Personal, 
which  wins  as  it  can,  but  are  disapproved  by  the 
Social  element,  and  especially  by  the  spectators — of 
whom  more  anon. 

There  is  also  a  purely  mental  form  of  game  in 
which  nothing  is  involved  except  the  mental  confu- 
sion of  an  opponent  through  words.  Even  his  sur- 
prise is  a  triumph  for  the  opponent.  Such  a  con- 
quest may  be  accomplished  by  superior  agility  or 
quickness  of  mind;  or  merely  by  leading  the  victim 
astray  as,  for  example,  by  seeming  to  be  Materially  or 
Socially  in  earnest  when,  as  suddenly  appears,  the 
matter  has  no  sense  at  all;  or  the  mere  nature  of  a 
Personal  remark  may  be  surprising.  Such  contests 
are  called  jokes,  jests,  riddles,  punning,  banter,  chaff, 
irony,  pleasantry,  humor,  whimsicality,  sarcasm, 
ridicule,  facetiousness,  waggishness,  drollery  and 
scurrility.  If  the  victim  is  deceived  or  made  to 
appear  slow  or  stupid,  the  joker  has  the  right  to  tri- 
umph and  laugh.  The  victim  in  certain  forms  of  the 
joke  will  laugh  in  sympathy,  but  he  will  regularly 
find  it  not  nearly  so  pleasant  as  it  seems  to  the  joker. 
Pleasantry  in  most  hands  has  a  distinct  tendency  to 
Personal  seriousness,  and  easily  lapses  into  abuse, 
etc.,  as  one  may  perceive  by  reading  our  comic  papers. 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  345 

The  quality  of  surprise  in  continued  speech  may  be 
called  nonsense,  fancy,  wit,  humor,  brilliance,  bright- 
ness, and  the  like,  and  may  be  used  to  great  advan- 
tage especially  by  showing  how  some  imaginary  per- 
son might  be  or  was  put  to  confusion.  Of  course, 
also  in  this  as  in  the  above-mentioned  cases,  the 
Personal  attractiveness  of  the  speaker  has  much  to 
do  with  the  acceptance  his  playfulness  receives,  i.  e., 
we  may  accept  his  superiority  with  liking  and  meek- 
ness. In  short,  the  situation  is  essentially  one  of 
rivalry,  although  kept  within  bounds  by  the  Social 
sense. 

It  should  be  noticed  that  individuals  having  little 
or  no  Personal  instinct  may  very  well  be  put  com- 
pletely to  confusion  and  yet  not  feel  confused  nor 
perceive  what  the  intention  was,  nor  indeed  under- 
stand why  any  one  should  choose  to  say  things  that 
are  untrue  or  without  sense.  From  this  point  of  view 
the  Personal  instinct  (with  the  Social)  is  the  sense  of 
the  ridiculous.  The  Social  and  Material  instincts 
in  themselves  have  no  such  sense.  They  do  not 
understand  Personalities,  or  the  love  of  fighting 
and  conquering  for  the  mere  satisfaction  of  rest- 
lessness, or  the  joy  of  merely  defeating  somebody 
whether  actually  or  mentally,  whether  fairly  or  by 
trickery. 

The  production  of  wit  and  humor,  however,  al- 
though chiefly  Personal,  demands  (it  should  be  re- 
membered), Social  sympathy.  It  may  thus  be  absent 
for  two  reasons,  since  a  lack  either  of  the  Personal  or 
of  the  Social  impulse  may  be  at  the  bottom  of  the 


346  .     A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

deficiency.  Thus,  Wordsworth  lacked  the  Personal; 
while  Browning  was  weak  on  the  Social  side.  Both 
lacked  wit. 

We  now  proceed  to  more  serious  relations  of  the 
Social  with  the  Material  and  Personal. 

As  we  have  said,  man  enters  and  lives  in  the 
Social  unit  with  his  home  and  his  Material  posses- 
sions generally.  They  are  a  part  of  him  and  are  rec- 
ognized sympathetically  as  such.  If  they  are  harmed 
all  feel  that  the  man  is  harmed.  Trr's  relation  is  the 
recognition  of  ownership,  and  is  elemental  in  human 
society.  Language  regularly  recognizes  it  in  such 
words  as  property  and  ownership  and  in  the  posses- 
sive forms  of  speech — his,  hers,  Smith's,  and  the  like 
—making  no  distinction  between  his  arm,  his  chil- 
dren, his  home,  or  his  land.  All  go  together,  and 
Social  sympathy  says  they  should  or  ought  to.  Hence 
property  is  a  Social  right.  On  the  recognition  of  this 
right  are  built  up  all  the  intricacies  of  business,  com- 
merce, and  the  like,  including  working  for  wages  or 
salary;  lending,  pledging,  rewarding,  and  the  like. 
It  is  to  be  noticed  that  the  whole  conception  of  earn- 
ing is,  however,  quite  simple  and  rests  on  the  mere 
moral  right  to  property.  Labor  is  considered  prop- 
erty, since  it  might  or  does  produce  property;  hence 
the  man  is  entitled  to  the  property  he  makes  or  to  an 
equivalent.  There  is  no  further  right  involved,  /.  e., 
the  exchange  is  purely  Material,  and  there  is  no  moral 
quality  in  service  so  rendered.  The  man  who  carries 
out  my  ashes  for  a  dollar  is  not  doing  a  Social  act; 
he  is  exchanging  his  time-property  for  my  money- 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  347 

property,  and  only  the  general  right  to  own  things  at 
all  is  involved. 

It  is  necessary  to  draw  the  line  clearly  between  a 
Social  (moral)  service  and  a  Material  exchange,  if 
Social  reasoning  is  to  advance.  There  is  no  ex- 
change, no  quid  pro  quo,  in  moral  service;  we  must 
help  our  neighbor.  The  argument,  "therefore  he 
ought  to  help  us,"  absolutely  does  not  follow  in  So- 
cial matters;  and  to  make  it,  the  transaction  must  be 
reduced  to  the  Material  exchange  basis.  Certainly  he 
ought  to  help,  but  not  because  we  helped  him.  It  is 
an  elemental  duty  on  his  side  as  on  ours,  and  the  two 
acts  of  helpfulness  have  absolutely  no  relation  to 
each  other  except  in  their  common  origin  in  duty. 
Thus  we  are  bound  to  help  him  fifty  times  if  he  needs 
it,  though  we  may  not  need  his  help  once.  Certainly 
helpfulness  is  a  sign  of  goodness,  and  if  we  are  com- 
pelled to  choose  in  the  distribution  of  our  aid,  we 
may  well,  and  perhaps  should,  choose  him  whom  we 
know  (through  his  past  services)  to  be  good,  rather 
than  one  whom  through  experience  we  know  to  be 
lacking  in  helpfulness.  The  exchange  idea,  however, 
is  a  blunder  in  Social  reasoning.  This  is  often  felt, 
yet  the  Material  conception  is  the  prevailing  one, 
and  in  many  cases  has  the  moral  force  of  a  custom 
and  must  be  followed.  We  must  reward  the  man  who 
brings  back  a  purse  or  saves  a  life;  we  must  return 
Christmas  gifts  or  Social  calls;  we  must  keep  an  eye 
open  to  return  in  some  way  the  aid  given  us  by  a 
friend.  Such  things  rest  heavy  on  the  consciences  of 
some.  Society  is  thus  largely  a  matter  of  reciprocity 


348  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

and  exchange.  There  is  certainly  no  great  harm  in  it 
in  itself;  it  has  even  the  good  point  that  it  reenforces 
moral  helpfulness.  Nevertheless,  it  has  the  distinct 
and  serious  disadvantage  of  confusing  the  moral 
sense  by  constantly  identifying  (in  our  thoughts  and 
memories)  morality  with  matters  of  exchange  that 
have  absolutely  no  moral  tinge.  Jesus  felt  this  (cf. 
Luke  vi,  32  fj.\  xiv,  12  ff.). 

As  is  well  known  the  exchange  or  reciprocity  or 
contract  idea  has  been  used  as  the  theory  of  the  state 
and  of  morals  generally.  Socrates  is  reported  to 
have  argued  that  a  son  should  treat  his  mother  well 
because  the  mother  had  done  and  endured  so  much 
for  him.  So  he  seems  to  have  conceived  that  a  law  of 
the  state  is  a  two-sided  matter,  and  that  a  good  man 
may  choose  either  to  obey  or  to  take  the  penalty. 
Whereas  the  Social  fact  clearly  is  that  the  child  must 
treat  his  mother  well;  and  the  man  must  obey  the 
state.  The  penalty  in  law  is  a  sign  of  the  Social  wrath 
of  the  state;  it  is  not  in  any  sense  a  quid  pro  quo. 
Resistance  after  disobedience  would,  of  course,  only 
make  the  matter  worse;  but  disobedience  itself  is 
wrong  and  is  only  to  be  justified  by  the  higher  love 

of  the  state  dictated  by  conscience — which  Socrates 

j . 

evidently  had,  however  he  may  have  reasoned. 

Primitive  justice  had  a  large  element  of  this  Ma- 
terial conception  in  it.  No  doubt  the  earliest  forms 
were  quite  natural  and  violent.  There  was  often  a 
mingling  of  the  Personal,  and  revenge  and  justice 
were  not  yet  clearly  distinguished.  When,  however, 
justice  became  a  considered  and  formal  matter,  its 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  349 

most  successful  side  must  have  concerned  property; 
its  consideration  for  the  criminal  was  pretty  cer- 
tainly small.  If  a  man  was  forcibly  deprived  of  his 
property  or  goods,  the  community  helped  him  re- 
cover it  from  the  evil-doer.  The  evil-doer  meanwhile 
would  be  killed  or  driven  from  the  community,  or, 
perhaps,  would  bribe  his  fellows  with  an  ox  or  a 
sheep.  Out  of  such  events  much  of  primitive  justice 
apparently  grew.  The  man  received  back  what  he 
had  lost;  the  judge  was  paid  for  his  labor;  the  vil- 
lain lost  what  he  paid  the  judge;  and  the  community 
kept  an  eye  on  the  villain  thereafter.  This  method 
seemed  simple  and  practical  in  questions  of  property, 
so,  perhaps,  for  want  of  a  better  method,  it  was  ex- 
tended. The  man  who  put  out  another's  eye,  should 
have  his  own  put  out,  or  should  pay  the  injured  man 
(and,  in  either  case,  the  court)  an  amount  agreed 
upon.  If  a  man  killed  another  he  must  pay  either 
with  his  life  (and  the  court  took  his  property),  or 
with  a  sum  of  money,  either  to  the  family  of  the  de- 
ceased and  to  the  court,  or  the  court  alone — and  the 
community  kept  its  eye  on  the  murderer  if  he  lived. 

The  evident  weakness  of  this  Material  idea  of  jus- 
tice is  that  it  takes  no  account  of  an  essential  fact, 
namely,  that  the  criminal  is  or  may  be  bad.     He  is 
just  as  bad  after  paying  the  fines  as  he  was  before, 
and  just  as  much  a  danger  to  the  community,  except   ' 
that  he  may  be  more  prudent.     There  is,  in  short// 
nothing  in  the  action  of  the  court  that  really  touches 
the  criminal. 

Modern  criminal  justice  is  still  very  much  what  it 


350  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

was.  We  balance  crimes  with  penalties,  either  of 
money  or  of  months  in  confinement,  and  when  the 
man  has  paid  he  is  commonly  as  much  a  menace  to 
the  community  as  he  ever  was  (and  the  community 
has  been  ill  served) ;  or  if  he  is  improved,  public  sus- 
picion, which  is  the  only  punishment  a  moral  man 
fears,  and  which  is  the  only  true  punishment  any 
criminal  gets,  begins  its  endless  years  of  torture. 
Thus  the  state  is  unfairly  cared  for  in  the  first  place 
and  the  criminal  unfairly  in  the  second.  The  true 
method  is  clear  enough  to  our  modern  criminologists. 
The  penalty  should  be  suited  not  to  the  crime  but  to 
the  criminal.  No  man  should  be  let  loose  upon  the 
community  until  he  can  be  guaranteed  to  be  fit  to  be 
among  men.  Months  and  dollars  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  question,  which  is  essentially  moral  and 
psychological.  Undoubtedly,  the  matter  is  one  of 
extreme  practical  difficulties  and  may  prove  insolu- 
ble. Experiment  alone  can  determine  what  can  be 
done.  It  is  a  hopeful  sign,  however,  to  find  the  true 
gist  of  the  matter  more  and  more  recognized;  and 
this  is  a  good  thing,  not  chiefly  because  of  the  crimi- 
nal, but  because  of  the  community.  Every  clearing 
up  of  the  Social  idea  must  be  of  real  value  and  im- 
portance; and  the  idea  that  a  community  is  built 
upon  exchange  is  seriously  wrong  and  a  real  bar  to 
natural  helpfulness. 

The  Personal  instinct  likewise  goes  on  unchecked 
within  the  Social  unit  so  far  as  it  does  not  conflict 
with  the  Social.  It  also  is  sanctioned  by  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  community  and  is  generally  agreed  to 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  351 

be  the  most  charming  instinct  there  is.  Thus  Emer- 
son's "Every  one  loves  a  lover,"  contains  an  essen- 
tial truth. 

But  while  the  confusion  arising  from  the  Material 
instinct  in  Society  though  great  and  in  certain  re- 
spects serious,  is  fairly  easy  of  solution,  that  arising 
from  the  Personal  while  certainly  no  less  great  and 
serious,  is  for  most  persons  simply  insoluble.  No  in- 
stincts contain  thoughts  by  which  they  can  be  plainly 
identified,  and  when  the  Personal  is  woven  with  the 
Social  the  result  seems  so  simple  that  few  are  even 
suspicious  that  anything  can  be  wrong.  Neverthe- 
less, as  the  Personal  is  essentially  hostile  to  the  Ma- 
terial, so  it  is  essentially  rebellious  and  careless  of  the 
Social.  The  dreamers  who  hope  to  legislate  the 
sense  of  property  out  of  existence,  would  do  better  if 
they  could  begin  by  legislating  the  Personal  instinct 
into  its  proper  limits. 

In  the  first  place,  it  seems  that  the  Personal  in- 
stinct regularly  and  inevitably  joins  with  it  the  Social 
for  its  own  ends.  The  lover  or  friend  while  he  is  la- 
boring to  endear  himself  Personally,  is  almost  certain 
to  use  helpfulness  and  sympathy,  and  thus  to  endear 
himself  Socially;  and  she  is  a  rare  mate  who  can 
always  distinguish  whether  she  most  misses  the  suitor 
(when  absent)  Socially  (/.  e.,  for  his  helpfulness  and 
sympathy),  or  Personally  (for  his  attractiveness). 
This  joining  of  the  two  impulses  results  in  some  of 
the  most  entirely  attractive  traits  of  our  nature,  for 
instance,  tenderness,  gentleness,  courtesy,  politeness, 
civility,  thoughtfulness,  chivalry,  quixotism,  affability, 


352  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

cordiality,  urbanity,  kindness,  graciousness,  bounti- 
fulness,  munificence,  charity,  courtliness,  gentleman- 
liness,  generosity,  breeding,  and  the  like. 

Undoubtedly,  sympathy  is  a  great  gain  in  Personal 
affairs;  and  just  as  plainly  it  is  a  great  Social  gain 
to  treat  all  members  of  the  unit  as  though  they  were 
Personally  attractive. 

These  are  plain  advantages  and  are  so  recognized. 
But  with  a  considerable  proportion  of  persons,  help- 
fulness and  sympathy  go  with  the  Personal  and 
scarcely  exist  at  all  otherwise.  The  handsome  young 
woman  will  be  treated  with  courtesy  by  all  men,  but 
the  ugly  old  woman  may  have  quite  a  different  ex- 
perience. Similarly,  if  there  arises  a  question  as  to 
helping  a  friend  when  the  friend  is  Socially  (morally) 
in  the  wrong,  many  will  choose  to  help  the  friend- 
lie  for  him,  aid  and  abet  him,  etc. — and  will  not  dis- 
tinguish that  this  is  wrong.  On  the  contrary,  not  to 
do  so  would  lie  heavy  on  what  must  be  called  their 
consciences.  This  trait  is  called  loyalty.  This  union 
of  the  Personal  and  Social  has  regularly  a  lovable 
(Personal)  and  a  good  (Social)  side  even  when  hate- 
fully immoral  from  the  standpoint  of  the  larger  com- 
munity or  of  the  private  conscience.  Perhaps  no  one 
thing  causes  more  trouble  in  the  world  than  this 
overthrow  of  the  Social  by  the  Personal.  Loyalty  is 
not  confined  to  any  one  Social  unit.  A  man  may  be 
loyal  to  a  friend,  to  his  family,  to  his  business  or 
social  associations,  to  his  city,  state,  or  country. 
Nothing  can  be  more  certain,  however,  than  that  the 
"imperious  word  ought"  demands  obedience  to  the 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  353 

larger  unit  rather  than  to  the  smaller,  and  to  con- 
science rather  than  to  friendship. 

The  negative  of  loyalty,  namely,  the  feeling  of  an 
obligation  to  attack  all  those  individuals  and  units 
whom  we  or  our  friends  or  units  dislike  Personally, 
is,  of  course,  quite  as  common  as  loyalty  itself.  Most 
of  the  daily  affairs  of  life  have  this  Personal  tinge. 
The  friend,  the  friendly  family,  party,  state,  or 
country,  is  not  admitted  to  be  defective  in  any  serious 
respect;  the  disliked  man,  party,  state,  or  country, 
usually  has  neither  wits,  knowledge,  courage,  good- 
ness, nor  truth.  These  positions  are  felt  to  be  Social 
obligations.  In  reality,  the  distaste  we  may  feel  in 
any  such  matter  is  the  Social  sense,  resisting  its  over- 
throw by  the  Personal.  The  confusion  of  thought  is 
not  unimportant. 

When  the  matter  is  turned  the  other  way,  as  it 
very  commonly  is  by  good  people,  namely,  that  we 
must  love  our  neighbor  Personally,  then  come  the 
twinges  of  conscience  and  the  rebellions.  But  there 
is  no  must  in  Personal  relations,  and  the  Social  love 
is  no  more  than  fair  dealing,  cooperation,  helpful- 
ness, and  sympathy.  Of  course,  Social  love  is  the 
greatest  satisfaction  in  the  world,  and  it  is,  perhaps, 
no  easy  matter  to  feel  and  exercise  it  toward  those  we 
dislike  Personally.  Nevertheless,  no  one  can  deny 
that  we  ought  to  do  so.  Personal  affection,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  quite  a  different  matter,  and  there  is 
not  only  no  must  reenforcing  it,  but  there  is  not  even 
a  possibility  of  arousing  it  toward  everybody — that  is 
not  its  function. 


354,  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Perhaps  no  situation  is  ordinarily  so  confusing  to 
the  conscience  as  that  entered  upon  through  the  re- 
ception of  favors.     If  a  helpful  deed  is  done  us  as  a 
mark  of  Personal   affection    (known  or  suspected), 
what  is  the  moral  position  ?     Two  false  ideas  are 
common:    First,  as  we  have  already  seen,  that  we 
must  repay  the  obligation.    This  is  the  Material  idea 
of  morals.    Second,  that  we  are  bound  to  repay  with 
Personal   affection.     This   is   the   Personal   idea   of 
morals.    Actually,  if  the  act  was  strictly  a  Personal 
one,  we  may  receive  it  like  any  other  act  of  courtship. 
No  individual  is  bound  to  respond  to  the  affection  of 
a  suitor;    yet  it  is  not  well,  either,  to  coquet.     Ca- 
resses from  one  not  Personally  liked  may  be  too  in- 
timate for  honesty;    and  gifts  are  caresses,  if  given 
from  Personal  motives.    There  is,  then,  no  Personal 
obligation,  but  those  who  are  wise  do  not  receive 
Personal  helpfulness  from  those  whom  they  dislike 
or  care  nothing  for.;'  If,  however,  the  helpfulness  is 
purely  Social,  there  is  still  no  bond,  for  the  bond  of 
duty  was  always  present,  and  is  not  changed  by  this 
act  except  as  we  are  inspired  by  it  to  be  better  and 
more  helpful  ourselves.    If,  however,  the  helpfulness 
was  Material,  then  we  are  bound  to  repay  it  in  kind. 
Ordinarily,  it   is  impossible  to  know  what  it  was, 
and  it  is  taken  as  friendly,  /.  e,.  Personal  with  some 
Social,  and  is  accepted  or  refused  as  such. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  if  accepted  as  Personal  or 
Social  nothing  is  gained,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  by  re- 
turning a  benefaction.  The  Social  bond  is  just  as 
strong,  and  the  deed  remains  just  as  good  after  as 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  355 

before  the  repayment.  Similarly,  repayment  does 
not  touch  a  Personal  situation.  There  is  thus  in 
receiving  benefactions  a  danger  of  tying  ourselves 
up  permanently  in  the  bonds  of  loyalty.  Thus  it 
happens  from  the  common  faulty  way  of  think- 
ing, that  almost  every  man  may  be  said  to  have 
his  price. 

We  now  note  that  the  Personal  instinct  has  its  own 
way  of  looking  at,  and  entering  into,  all  the  conditions 
of  Social  life.  Social  successes  are  sometimes  Per- 
sonal, as  when  a  man  leads  his  family  or  some  other 
organization  by  sheer  Personal  force — either  by 
attractiveness  or  by  temper  and  violence.  All  Social 
successes,  however,  are  likely  to  be  considered  Per- 
sonal triumphs.  The  political  leader  is  a  hero  if  he 
wins,  and  is  jeered  if  he  loses.  Individuals  outside 
of  any  organization  are  often  looked  upon  by  those 
within  as  if  they  were  defeated  rivals — with  laughter 
or  scorn  or  even  mockery,  e.  g.,  the  foreigner  or  the 
parvenu.  From  the  Personal  side  come  also  the 
various  adornments  and  fancy  dresses  that  are.  worn 
by  special  organizations  and  especially  by  leaders 
(the  same  instinct  at  work  that  adorns  the  cock 
among  the  hens) — uniforms,  feathers,  gowns,  cas- 
socks, crowns,  silk  hats,  and  the  like.  Hence,  also, 
the  cock-like  manners  of  the  Socially  triumphant — 
dignity,  stateliness,  condescension,  augustness,  dicta- 
torialness,  autocracy,  arbitrariness,  patronization; 
with  the  love  of  splendor,  show,  magnificence,  gran- 
deur, pageantry,  sumptuousness,  and  regalia.  Per- 
sonal-Social are  also  the  love  of  power,  authority, 


356  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

office,  leadership,  precedence,  glory,  honor,  and  the 
like  and  even  the  love  of  popularity,  publicity,  noto- 
riety, and,  sometimes,  of  good  name. 

Together  with  this  it  is  to  be  noted  that  no  Per- 
sonal or  Personal-Social  exhibition  takes  place  in  a 
community  without  being  through  sympathy  a  mat- 
ter in  which  many  are  interested;  and  as  the  Personal 
instinct  itself  is  keen  and  demonstrative,  so,  in  the 
natural  increase  and  confidence  of  Social  sympathy 
it  may  produce  the  wildest  phenomena  of  Social  life. 
Thus,  religious  revivals  if  pitched  upon  the  Personal 
plane  may  be  such  scenes  of  shrieking,  dancing,  hys- 
teria, and  physical  collapse,  as  to  make  the  Material 
and  Social  mind  think  of  a  mad-house.  Similarly,  a 
political  meeting,  if  conducted  under  strongly  Per- 
sonal conditions,  may  be  a  scene  of  most  uncon- 
trolled excitement.  Such  fits  are  apparently  ex- 
ceedingly pleasant  and  very  slightly  moral. 

The  most  ordinary  exhibition  of  the  Personal- 
Social,  however,  is  in  the  crowds  which  support 
champions  of  all  sorts.  It  is  a  joy  to  the  on-lookers 
to  see  the  hero  triumph;  it  is  akin  to  triumphing 
oneself,  though  there  is  regularly  no  such  thought  in 
the  mind.  Hence  the  excitement  over  public  games 
of  all  sorts,  including  cock-fighting  and  the  like— 
shouts  over  the  victor  and  jeers  at  the  defeated. 
Hence  the  delight  in  contests  of  wit — laughter  with 
the  victor  and  at  the  victim  (found,  as  we  have  seen, 
even  among  the  lower  animals,  for  instance,  the  ele- 
phants). Hence  the  eternal  delight  of  the  people  in 
their  military  heroes,  commonly  outstripping  any 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  357 

feeling  toward  their  moral  ones,  and  always  more 
demonstrative,  with  ovations,  triumphal  processions, 
and  the  like.  Hence,  also,  the  popularity  of  politically 
successful  men,  especially  if  they  are  noisy  and  abu- 
sive. Such  men,  it  is  true,  being  themselves  strongly 
Personal,  may  arouse  strong  Personal  liking  in  the 
individuals  of  the  crowd,  but  a  large  part  of  popular 
applause  may  be  mere  sympathy  with  the  deed,  as 
many  a  popular  hero  has  found. 

In  this  connection  may  be  noted  the  rules  of  games 
and  fighting — determining  what  is  pleasing  and  what 
not,  so  that  the  contest  may  be  continued  to  our 
taste.  All  such  rules  imply  an  audience  to  be  pleased. 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  no  small  part  of  the  joy  of 
the  modern  Social  and  popular  idol  is  the  sympa- 
thetic triumphing  of  his  fellows — their  shouting  and 
laughter  and  applause,  their  pride  and  boasting,  in 
which  his  own  feelings  are  multiplied  and  magnified, 
and  come  back  to  him  greater  every  way. 

From  all  this  it  becomes  evident  that  the  Personal 
instinct  plays  a  large  part  in  Social  life.  The  "pop- 
ular idol"  is  regularly  a  man  of  this  type  rather  than 
of  the  Social,  though  of  course,  he  must  be  Social. 
His  chief  thoughts  are  likely  to  be  of  defeating  some- 
body or  something,  his  chief  joys  the  success  of  such 
efforts  and  the  applause  of  the  crowd.  The  more 
useful  man  Socially,  however,  is  very  often  one  who 
knows  no  Personalities  and  has  none,  but  whose  sym- 
pathies are  open  to  all  men,  and  whose  chief  pleasure 
is  in  their  happiness — in  the  solidarity  of  the  state. 
The  former  type  is  common  among  our  politicians; 


358  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

the  latter,  fortunately,  among  our  judges,  the  real 
reliance  and  safeguard  of  mankind. 

We  will  notice,  finally,  the  limits  which  the  Social 
instinct  has  imposed  upon  the  Material  and  Personal 
instincts  as  to  public  exhibitions  of  themselves. 
Both  instincts  in  man  have  become  modest.  It  is 
thought  to  be  shameful  and  indecent  among  civilized 
peoples  to  defecate  or  conjugate  in  public,  and  the 
very  names  of  such  acts  are  barred  from  polite  So- 
ciety., Many  children  actually  grow  to  maturity 
without  a  suspicion  of  sex,  the  subject  is  so  entirely 
tabooed./  It  is  similarly  felt  to  be  not  quite  modest  to 
eat  alone  in  the  presence  of  others;  and  men  eat  either 
in  private  or  Socially.  Similarly,  it  is  immodest  to  ex- 
hibit strong  Material  or  Personal  emotions  in  public. 
Food  must  be  eaten  without  eagerness;  talk  of  one's 
health  must  be  general  and  indefinite;  a  man  must  be 
slightly  cool  with  his  wife  or  his  lady-love  in  public; 
etc.;  etc.  One  may,  however,  be  as  affectionate 
(Personal)  as  one  chooses  in  talking  with  very  young 
children,  and  it  is  perhaps  this  fact,  coupled  with  the 
customary  coldness  associated  with  ordinary  speech, 
that  makes  lovers,  even  in  private,  resort  so  often  to 
"baby-talk."  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  the  avoidance 
of  the  Personal  note  that  has  led  many  languages  into 
their  curious  and  indefinite  use  of  pronouns  and 
words  of  address — in  English,  e.  g.,  you  and  we  for 
thou  and  I.  Personal  display  of  wealth  or  knowledge 
is  also  in  bad  taste  if  others  of  equal  possessions  are 
not  present.  Similarly,  Personal  vanity,  boasting, 
and  the  like  are  "ill-bred."  Good  general  traits 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  359 

along  these  lines  may  be  called  modesty,  sobriety, 
decency,  and  the  like.  More  elemental  Personal 
self-restraint  is  compelled  Socially  in  the  so-called 
sexual  virtues — purity,  continence,  chastity,  virginity, 
and  the  like.  The  idea  that  chastity  has  some  con- 
nection with  morals  is  very  old  and  reached  a  bar- 
baric height  in  the  Middle  Ages.  It  rests,  however, 
upon  secondary  facts  of  experience,  and  is  not  ele- 
mentary, as  modesty  and  the  other  above-mentioned 
restraints  are. 

THE    IDEAL-SOCIAL    INSTINCT. 

The  entire  satisfaction  of  the  Social  instinct  is,  of 
course,  impossible,  since  it  could  take  place  only  by 
an  actual  fusion  of  the  individuals  composing  the 
Social  unit.  This  does  not  occur  above  the  unicel- 
lular organisms. 

The  practical  approach  toward  satisfaction  is  the 
history  of  Society — perhaps  the  history  of  man. 
That  great  strides  have  been  made  through  the  pain- 
ful experiments  of  ages  is  undoubted.  Especially  is 
progress  plain  since  the  coming  in  of  printing  and 
other  modern  inventions.  The  elaborate  interaction 
and  cooperation  of  the  modern  state  is  certainly  the 
triumph  of  the  life  on  the  earth;  and  there  is  no  sign 
that  it  has  reached  its  possibilities  even  now.  It  is 
plain  that  new  experiments  are  being  made  and  are 
to  be  made.  This  is  still  being  done  to  a  large  ex- 
tent by  those  who  do  not  really  see  what  ends  they 
will  reach.  Perhaps  this  is  inevitable;  perhaps  no 
one  mind  can  grasp  the  implications  of  certain  pro- 


360  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

posed  radical  changes.  If  so,  we  must  feel  our  way 
where  we  cannot  imagine  it.  The  Social  impulse  will 
not  rest  while  unsatisfied,  for  (it  should  always  be 
remembered)  reason  is  the  servant  of  the  impulses, 
and  if  it  will  not,  or  cannot  help  them,  they  will 
certainly  act  without  it.  We  shall  certainly  change 
somewhat,  and  perhaps  seriously. 

Imaginary  satisfactions  of  the  Social  instinct  have 
been  fairly  common  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
Usually  the  fancy  has  roamed  in  the  past  where  some 
Golden  Age  or  other  similar  condition  of  things  was 
existent.  The  element  barred  out  was,  somewhat 
vaguely,  sin.  These  ages  have  never  been  very 
clearly  described. 

There  have  also  been  special  attempts  at  conceiv- 
ing of  actual  states.  Plato's  "Republic"  and  More's 
"Utopia"  are  standard.  Of  late  there  have  been 
special  theories  of  a  similar  sort  called  Socialism, 
Anarchism,  and  the  like.  Such  theories  are  likely  to 
be  distinct  and  elaborate  but,  of  course,  are  very 
simple  compared  with  the  actual  society  of  our  times. 
It  should  be  plain  that  no  adequate  theory  of  so- 
ciety can  be  constructed  without  a  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  human  desires  and  interests.  These,  how- 
ever, after  thousands  of  years  of  experiment,  have 
discovered  and  invented  the  state  as  it  is,  and  it  is 
hardly  likely  that  any  one  man  will  evolve  a  new 
state  out  of  whole  cloth,  at  this  date,  to  supersede  it 
entirely.  No  doubt,  however,  the  popularity  of  some 
of  these  theories  shows  lines  in  which  human  prog- 
ress is  possible,  and  not  only  possible  but  extremely 


THE  SOCIAL   INSTINCT  361 

probable.  The  duty  of  the  unsatisfied  is  to  complain 
and  protest;  it  is  for  the  able  and  intelligent  to  dis- 
cover the  remedy  if  there  is  one. 

The  Social  instinct  is  the  fundamental  one  in  art. 
All  art  is  created  for  the  enjoyment  of  society  and  to 
express  its  moods.  It  is  thus  deeply  sensitive  to  its 
Social  surroundings,  both  in  its  thoughts  and  in  its 
style.  If  good,  it  is  likely  to  be  extremely  conserv- 
ative, and  it  tends  distinctly  to  formalism  and 
"schools."  Like  language,  it  is  (historically),  at  first 
extremely  simple  and  general  and  limited  in  scope, 
and  only  when  civilization  is  fully  developed  does  it 
become  a  means  of  more  individual  expression. 

The  Material  instinct  in  art  tends  to  honesty  and 
simplicity  and  truth  in  the  observation  and  handling 
of  material  details.  It  tends  also  to  the  analysis  of 
motives  and  the  logical  unfolding  of  details. 

The  Personal  instinct,  if  unbridled,  tends  to  orna- 
mentation and  eccentricity  (the  latter  to  provoke 
surprise);  if  more  under  Social  control,  it  becomes 
an  extreme  formality,  with  richness  and  ingenuity  in 
details  (<?.  g.,  in  Milton).  In  the  latter  case  the  for- 
mality is  the  chief  evidence  of  Social  control,  and 
is,  perhaps,  caused  by  a  feeling  that  informality,  /'.  e., 
eccentricity,  is  ridiculous. 

The  more  purely  Social  forms  of  art  are  dictated 
by  a  love  of  society  and  humanity,  and  are  thus 
moral — often  profoundly  so.  Not  infrequently  they 
conceive  of  and  depict  a  society  in  some  way  much 
better  than  the  actual — often  that  of  some  other  age 
or  place  or  even  world.  They  are  always  selective, 


362  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

always  more  or  less  different — and  in  some  chosen 
way — from  the  actualities  of  the  world. 

In  style,  the  Social  impulse  tends  to  be  simple  and 
formal  and  clear.  It  wishes  to  be  understood  and 
approved.  Like  the  Material,  it  finds  no  attractive- 
ness in  ornamentation.  Its  broad  (but  exclusive) 
love  of  humanity  and  morals,  on  the  other  hand,  tends 
to  make  it  trivial  in  its  subjects  and  (often)  careless 
as  to  its  truth.  It  is  also  apt  to  lack  brevity. 

The  Social  instinct  as  a  factor  in  religion  has  an 
elaborate  history.  This  instinct,  though  most  defi- 
nitely felt  toward  objects  of  our  own  species,  is  felt 
in  some  degree  toward  all  objects,  according  to  their 
exhibition  of  signs  of  life.  Thus,  in  the  lower  forms 
of  the  animal  world  there  is  no  clear  distinction  be- 
tween animate  and  inanimate  objects.  The  snake 
will  bite  at  a  stick  that  offends  it,  quite  as  readily  as 
at  a  living  creature.  Bees,  when  aroused,  will  sting 
anything  that  opposes  them.  And  so  on.  Darwin's 
dog  barked  fiercely  at  the  closed  parasol  that  was 
puffed  and  moved  by  the  wind.  The  distinctions  are 
not  and  cannot  be  clearly  made  at  first. 

Thus,  also,  in  the  earlier  and  more  primitive  races 
of  man,  minds  are  conceived  in  external  objects  both 
correctly  and  incorrectly,  very  frequently  the  latter. 
Any  moving  object  is  thought  to  move  like  the  others 
that  move;  any  object  that  makes  a  noise  is  thought 
to  have  a  voice;  and  so  on.  Any  object  that  aroused 
the  mind  Personally  would  thus  be  thought  to  be  a 
Personality.  Hence  the  inevitable  personifications 
of  early  civilizations:  trees,  clouds,  the  sun,  moon, 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  303 

and  stars,  rivers,  mountains,  animals,  the  earth — all 
were  supposed  to  be  actuated  by  human  minds.  Later 
they  were  supposed  to  contain  spirits  that  were  of 
human  kind;  and  these  spirits  were  often  represented 
in  art — not  infrequently  as  only  partly  human,  the 
other  elements  being  either  borrowed  from  the  lower 
animals,  or  being  grotesque  inventions  made  by  the 
exaggeration  of  human  traits  or  expressions — forms 
calculated  to  arouse  the  proper  emotion  better  than 
the  mere  natural  appearance  could.  Little  by  little, 
these  supposed  beings  were  given  attributes  of  a 
more  Social  kind.  They  were  supposed  to  be  inter- 
ested in  the  world  and  to  work  with  or  against  man. 
Very  commonly  they  were  in  some  special  Social  re- 
lation to  a  family,  tribe,  or  race. 

The  ascribing  of  personality  to  objects  having 
none,  is  still  a  common  and  evidently  natural  occu- 
pation of  the  mind.  It  satisfies  the  same  old  instinc- 
tive Social  impulse,  and  makes  us  feel  akin  to  all 
nature.  Poets  not  uncommonly  arrive  at  a  love  of 
nature  by  this  method.  The  flowers  are  maidens; 
the  grove  is  a  "venerable  brotherhood";  the  sweet 
day  is  a  "bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky."  All  this  is,  of 
course,  only  a  filling  out  and  strengthening  of  the 
natural  love  of  the  earth  which,  like  the  love  of  home, 
is  Material  in  origin.  We  may  believe  that  the 
home-feeling  was,  and  is,  also  active  in  many  of  the 
primitive  beliefs,  e.  g.,  tree-worship. 

The  earth  has  become  a  much  lonelier  place  since 
the  days  of  our  early  beliefs.  The  nixies  and  the 
fairies  and  the  goblins  and  the  wood-spirits  are  gone, 


364  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

with  the  gods  of  love  and  wine  and  war  and  fertility 
and  the  rest.  Knowledge  has  put  an  end  to  all  but 
one.  He  is  reckoned  the  Spirit  of  the  Universe, 
which  is  the  sign  and  evidence  of  his  character. 
Sometimes  he  is  conceived  as  in  it,  as  if  the  universe 
were  his  body;  sometimes  he  is  conceived  as  outside 
of  it,  in  the  relation  of  a  watch-maker  to  a  watch. 
In  either  case  he  is  harder  of  approach  in  the  ex- 
ternal world  than  the  old  gods  were. 

But  here,  as  elsewhere,  Christianity  has  added  the 
crowning  conceptions.  As  the  Social  impulse  is 
greater  than  the  Material  and  Personal  impulses,  so 
God  is  conceived  as,  above  all,  good  and  sympathetic; 
and  we  may  become  "workers  together  with  him." 
Thus,  God  is  conceived  as  the  complete  answer  to 
this  instinct  also.  The  goodness  and  sympathy  that 
we  never  find  on  earth  is  found  in  God.  The  yearn- 
ing that  earthly  Society  can  never  satisfy — the  desire 
to  be  perfectly  at  one  with  other  minds  without  losing 
our  own  individuality — that  yearning  is  to  be  stilled 
somehow,  some  time,  somewhere,  with  the  church 
and  God.  His  power  will  perfect  and  coordinate 
our  individual  wills  with  his,  and  the  result  will  be 
comparable  to  the  union  of  the  parts  of  the  body. 
More  commonly,  the  figure  used  is  that  of  a  com- 
munity, either  a  city  or  a  family.  Of  the  city,  God  is 
king;  of  the  family  (and  this  is  the  figure  Jesus 
regularly  used)  God  is  the  father. 

The  fatherhood  of  God,  though  perhaps  not  the 
most  perfect  figure  of  speech  Socially,  is  recognized 
as  by  far  the  best  known  to  include  the  traits  by 


THE  SOCIAL  INSTINCT  365 

which  God  is  supposed  to  satisfy  the  three  instincts 
together,  for  fatherhood  has  Material,  Personal,  and 
Social  implications  in  almost  an  even  balance. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  conception  of  a  good  God 
makes  him  the  personification  (and  source)  of  the 
Social  ought  or  must.  When  we  do  as  we  ought,  we 
are  following  his  leadings.  Conscience  is  the  voice 
of  God  in  the  mind,  and  so  on.  Thus  we  must 
obey  God  (and  therefore,  unfortunately,  those  who 
know  what  he  wants  done);  those  who  do  otherwise 
cannot  have  part  in  the  final  perfect  communion. 

These  elements  in  Christianity  are  plainly  Social. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SOCIAL  UNITS 

THE    FAMILY 

THE  simplest  and  closest  of  the  Social  units  is 
called  the  family.  This  is  composed,  in  its  most 
complete  form,  of  a  male  and  a  female  and  their 
offspring,  but  may  lack,  temporarily  or  permanently, 
one  or  more  of  the  members.  That  the  family  is 
recognized  as  a  Social  unit  in  man  is  shown  by  the 
fact  that  is  named. 

The  family  is  found  among  most  of  the  higher 
animals.  Many  insects,  the  spiders,  some  fish,  all 
birds  and  mammals,  unite  in  this  way.  Among  the 
birds  there  are  the  apparent  exceptions  of  the  cuckoo 
and  the  cow-blackbird,  which,  however,  feel  enough 
of  the  instinct  to  lay  in  a  nest,  /.  e.,  to  join,  in 
a  sense,  in  the  family  of  another  bird;  while  the 
cuckoo  is  said  to  build  occasionally  and  rear  its 
own  young. 

The  duration  of  the  family  union  varies  greatly. 
Some  spiders  are  said  to  devour  their  own  young 
if  they  do  not  soon  leave  the  association.  Many  an- 


366 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  367 

imals  live  in  families  during  only  a  part  of  each  year. 
Others,  again,  mate  for  life  and  have  new  offspring 
from  time  to  time,  who  quit  the  family  on  reaching 
maturity,  e.  g.,  some  birds  and  mammals.  In  man 
the  family  ordinarily  lasts  during  the  life  of  the  par- 
ents, but  relationships  are  often  remembered  and  to 
some  extent  felt,  and  any  family  may  be  thought  of 
as  including  past  families  (the  ancestors  of  those 
alive)  and  future  families  (the  descendants). 

The  breaking  up  of  families  may  be  caused  either 
by  lack  of  food,  the  members  shifting  for  themselves, 
as  sometimes  in  man;  or  by  Personal  jealousies  and 
rivalries;  or  by  the  formation  of  new  families  by  the 
mature  young.  The  families  of  honey-bees  appar- 
ently divide  because  of  the  closeness  of  their  quar- 
ters. These  causes  are  all  Material  and  Personal 
rather  than  Social,  but  there  is  doubtless  in  most 
species  a  weakening  of  the  Social  tie  when  the  young 
are  mature.  The  impulse  of  helpfulness  evidently 
grows  less  both  in  many  of  the  lower  animals  and  in 
man.  Nevertheless,  the  quail  coveys  (families)  hold 
together  through  the  winter;  and  the  families  of  ants 
and  honey-bees  may  last  for  years. 

The  family  comes  into  existence  in  all  cases  simi- 
larly, and  its  history  shows  comparatively  little  varia- 
tion in  different  species.  The  beginning  of  the  fam- 
ily is,  regularly,  two  individuals  of  opposite  Personal 
sexes  who  seek  each  other  and  maintain  fellowship, 
evidently  under  the  Personal  impulse  of  sex.  Very 
commonly  these  build  some  sort  of  home  or  nest, 
though  in  some  cases  there  is  no  home,  and  in  many 


368  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

others  the  home  is  built  by  the  female  alone.  In  this 
nest  or  home  the  eggs  or  young  are  deposited,  and  in 
it  the  young  remain  until  old  enough,  or  almost  so, 
to  care  for  themselves.  In  some  cases  the  young 
shift  for  themselves  from  the  start,  but  commonly 
they  remain  with  the  parents  and  are  aided  and 
defended  in  various  ways  by  the  mature  ani- 
mals. When  the  young  are  mature  they  either 
leave  the  family  or  (like  the  bees  and  ants)  be- 
come part  of  it,  when  they  may  join  in  the  care  of 
the  young. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  repeat  unnecessarily  what 
was  considered  in  the  last  chapter.  We  pass  then 
directly  to  certain  questions  and  objections  as  to  our 
theory. 

In  the  first  place,  is  marriage  and  the  family  a 
product  of  Personal  sex  or  of  a  variation  of  it  ?  It  is 
plainly  not  an  inevitable  sequel  or  accompaniment  of 
it.  Male  animals,  as  a  rule,  are  certainly  more  sexual 
Personally  than  females,  but  if  either  of  the  parents 
is  lacking  in  parental  helpfulness,  it  is  almost  inevi- 
tably the  male.  Indeed,  it  might  almost  be  said  that 
the  normal  family  is  made  up  of  the  female  and  the 
young,  so  commonly  does  the  male,  after  the  first, 
leave  all  to  the  female.  Among  the  ants  and  bees, 
again,  the  workers  are  those  who  have  least  Personal 
sex,  while  the  males  are  those  who  do  least  for  the 
family.  We  may  appeal  further  to  common  human 
experience,  and  ask  whether  men  who  are  strongest 
in  Personal  sex  are  the  ones  who  are  most  eager  to 
enter  marriage  bonds,  and  whether,  on  the  other 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  369 

hand,  good  men  do  not  inevitably  marry,  if  possible, 
when  they  fall  in  love. 

Again,  the  wave  of  Personal  sex  feeling  is  not  co- 
incident with  the  wave  of  family  feeling.  Animals 
regularly  have  a  period  of  strong  exhibition  of  sex 
and  courtship,  and  only  after  Personal  satisfaction 
do  they  begin  building  or  nesting.  Moreover,  after 
building,  Personal  sex  often  ceases  entirely,  and 
always  decreases,  while  the  family  instinct  only  then 
really  gets  under  way. 

But,  it  may  be  argued,  the  family  instinct  is  a 
transformation  of  the  Personal  instinct.  To  such  an 
argument  we  can,  perhaps,  offer  no  absolutely  con- 
clusive answer,  but  we  submit  that  the  transformation 
is  complete.  The  change  from  the  singing,  fluttering 
bird  with  no  eye  or  apparent  thought  except  for  the 
female  and  his  rivals,  to  the  quiet  hard-working 
bird  carrying  worms  to  the  young  and  with  scarcely 
an  eye  for  his  mate,  deserves  no  less  an  adjective. 
Certainly  if  this  is  Personality,  it  is  acting  wholly  out 
of  character. 

Our  view  of  the  situation  is  already  known  to  the 
reader.  The  production  of  sex-cells  and  the  care  for 
the  fertilized  ova,  we  hold  to  be  Social  in  nature,  to- 
gether with  the  special  physical  provisions  for  the 
same.  The  sex-cells,  however,  are  strongly  Personal, 
as  is  the  whole  body  at  the  time  of  their  (Social) 
production.  Personal  phenomena  preceding,  and  to 
some  extent  accompanying,  marriage  are  dependent 
upon  the  Body-Social  instinct,  but  the  Social  is  not 
dependent  upon  the  Personal,  although  for  a  time 


370  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

the  Personal  is  very  much  the  more  demonstrative  of 
the  two,  and  although  the  family  is  actually  deter- 
mined by  the  Personal,  in  the  sense  that  this  instinct 
regularly  determines  which  individuals  shall  originate 
the  family,  and  then  brings  these  individuals  to- 
gether. The  family  bond  is  thus  in  essence  not  Per- 
sonal at  all  but  Social.  And  this  is  true  among  men 
as  among  the  other  animals.  Marriage  should  be 
entered  upon  according  to  Personal  preferences,  but 
the  man  or  woman  who  marries  for  Personal  sex  will 
meet  with  an  utter  and  grievous  disillusionment. 

There  is  some  evidence  that  in  birds  and  fish,  and 
perhaps  other  animals,  the  Social  instinct  is  active 
and  strong  before  the  movements  of  Personality. 
These  animals,  like  many  others,  pass  through  what 
may  be  called  a  cycle  each  year.  Personality  and  the 
family  instinct  exist  with  them,  in  power,  during  only 
a  part  of  the  year.  (This  is  plain  evidence,  it  would 
seem,  of  some  such  connection  and  perhaps  depend- 
ence between  them  as  we  have  supposed.)  With  the 
on-coming  of  the  breeding  season,  however,  these 
animals  regularly  undertake  considerable  journeys, 
called  migrations,  in  order  to  arrive  at  some  particular 
breeding  spot.  According  to  our  theory  the  secret  of 
this  movement  is  plain.  It  is  the  family-homing  in- 
stinct which  has  revived  and  which  brings  the  birds 
and  fish  to  the  old  abode — some  of  the  younger  in- 
dividuals following  Socially.  In  the  case  of  birds,  it 
is  believed  by  all  observers  that  individual  birds 
often  return  to  the  exact  nesting  spot  year  after  year. 
Perfect  proof  is  difficult,  of  course,  but  the  evidence 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  371 

is  all  in  one  direction  as  to  probability.1  In  these 
cases  the  impulse  to  return  may  be  satisfied  definitely 
only  by  coming  to  a  certain  spot,  perhaps  to  a  certain 
vine  on  a  certain  porch  a  thousand  miles  from  the 
point  of  departure.  It  is  the  memory,  clear  or  dim, 
of  the  nest  that  causes  the  return,  and  this  is  the 
Family-Material  instinct  at  work.  That  it  is  not 
Personal  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  males  and  fe- 
males regularly  travel  separately,  the  males  regularly 
arriving  at  the  home  several  days  before  the  females. 
Evidently  there  is  here  an  instinct  stronger  than  the 
Personal,  and  leading  the  males  and  the  females  not 
only  forward  but  apart  from  each  other.  Thus  the 
mating  takes  place  at  the  breeding-grounds.  It  is 
plain,  however,  that  if  Personality  were  the  chief 
thing  and  the  family  a  transformation  of  it,  the  mat- 
ing should  take  place  first  and  the  birds  (like  a  human 
bridal  couple)  should  then  proceed  together  to  the 
nesting  spot. 

Our  theory  also  makes  clear  the  relation  of  preg- 
nancy to  the  family.  The  production  of  sex-cells  is 
accompanied  by  strong  Personality,  but  after  this 
production  has  ceased  we  may  understand  that  the 
Personal  would  grow  less.  The  retention  and  care  of 
the  fertilized  ova,  however,  would  then  begin  and  this 
is  purely  Social — helpful.  With  pregnancy,  there- 
fore, there  actually  takes  place  a  profound  physical 
change  in  the  size,  form,  and  composition  of  the 


1 1  have  myself  heard  a  song  sparrow,  with  a  peculiar  individual 
note,  singing  in  the  same  locality  two  years  following;  and  others 
have  noticed  similar  cases. 


372  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

body,  which  change  we  have  called  a  Social  one. 
With  the  physical  change  takes  place  also  a  profound 
mental  change.  New  impulses  are  aroused  and  are 
very  strong.  Some  of  these,  in  human  beings,  are 
highly  eccentric,  but  in  every  normal  case  there  is  an 
unusual  arousing  of  the  family  (Social)  instinct.  There 
can  be  little  doubt  that  the  connection  between  preg- 
nancy and  the  family  instinct  is  a  real  one.  In  many 
animals  the  pregnant  female  is  the  founder  and  sole 
organizer  of  the  family;  in  almost  all  cases  she  is  its 
chief  member,  both  in  pregnancy  and  later,  while 
the  effects  still  continue.  Even  in  man  she  is  recog- 
nized as  the  centre  of  the  home.  She  cares  for  the 
children  and  for  the  husband;  though  timid,  she  will 
run  greater  risks  and  dangers,  ordinarily,  than  the 
husband  will  to  save  or  protect  the  young;  and  she 
is  commonly  ready  to  take  the  helm  if  the  helpmeet 
fail  or  prove  unworthy.  It  is  to  be  noted,  morover, 
how  uninspired  those  marriages  are  apt  to  be  in 
which  there  are  no  children;  and  how  often  marriage 
takes  place  after  women  are  already  pregnant — the 
man  having  all  his  Social  side  aroused  through  sym- 
pathy with  the  far  greater  instinct  in  the  woman.  In 
some  countries  marriage  after  the  beginning  of  preg- 
nancy is  the  rule.  It  seems  to  have  been  common  and 
honorable  in  England  in  Shakespeare's  day  (cf.,  for 
instance,  "Twelfthnight");  and  it  may  well  be  that 
this  was  once  the  case  in  all  lands,  and  that  human 
marriage  is  to  be  explained  as  the  creation,  in  a 
sense,  of  the  pregnant  female.  The  "engagement" 
often  is,  and  probably  always  was,  a  cohabitation 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  373 

that  lasted  until  pregnancy  was  evident.  It  could  be 
broken  honorably  and  was,  if  pregnancy  was  too 
long  in  coming. 

Undoubtedly  this  explanation  of  the  Family- 
Social  development  and  especially  of  its  relation  to 
the  Personal,  may  leave  something  to  be  desired  and 
perhaps  much;  not  more,  however,  than  may  fairly 
be  thought  explicable,  along  the  lines  of  our  theory, 
in  the  future. 

All  Social  units  are  to  be  treated  and  considered 
as  real,  though  not  fully  accomplished,  organisms. 
Hence  we  shall  find  in  them  repetitions  of  what  oc- 
curred in  the  lower  fusions,  and  there  will  be  forms 
of  the  Material,  Personal,  and  Social  instincts.  These 
we  shall  call  the  Social-Material,  Social-Personal,  and 
Social-Social  instincts,  when  necessary;  or  we  shall 
put  the  name  of  the  Social  unit  as  the  first  part  of  the 
word,  <?.  g.,  Family-Material,  Family-Personal,  Fam- 
ily-Social, and  the  like.  These  instincts  exist,  of 
course,  in  the  individuals  of  any  Social  unit.  They 
concern  the  unit  as  a  whole,  and  may  be  felt  sympa- 
thetically, more  or  less,  by  all  the  individuals  in  the 
unit. 

The  Family-Material  instinct  would  be  concerned 
first  with  the  arrangement  and  perfection  of  the 
family  within  itself,  as  the  Body-Material  was  with 
the  body  within  itself.  A  first  need  of  the  instinct  in 
this  capacity  would  be  satisfied  only  when  the  family 
unit  was  complete.  The  complete  unit  is  no  doubt 
different  in  different  animals.  In  man  it  consists  of 
a  man,  a  woman,  and  one  or  more  children.  If  any 


374  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

of  these  members  is  lacking,  a  sense  of  loneliness  and 
incompleteness  is  felt.  Newly  married  couples  are 
often  quite  unconscious  of  the  cause  of  this  loneli- 
ness, and  may  be  so  happy  as  not  even  to  notice  that 
they  are  lonely.  The  lower  animals  when  they  mate, 
doubtless  never  recognize  that  offspring  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  their  union.  But  both  among  the 
lower  animals  and  in  man  there  is  regularly  great  joy, 
and  (in  man  at  least)  a  feeling  of  greater  perfection 
in  the  family,  and  of  greater  contentment,  when  the 
offspring  comes.  (The  reader  may  here  be  referred 
to  Kipling's  "An  Habitation  Enforced,"  than  which 
nothing  could  be  better.)  Thus  the  likeness  between 
a  cackling  hen  and  a  human  parent  of  a  few  hours 
is  not  merely  superficial.  In  both  cases  it  is  the 
Family-Material  impulse  that  has  been  satisfied. 
This  impulse  in  man,  if  it  becomes  a  conscious 
desire,  is  called  the  desire  of  offspring,  or  perhaps 
philoprogenitiveness.  Like  other  instincts  it  may  be 
deceived  in  its  satisfaction.  It  not  infrequently,  as 
we  have  seen,  adopts  strangers,  sometimes  even  by 
force. 

A  further  need  of  the  Family-Material  impulse  is 
the  home  and  property.  This  has  been  discussed 
elsewhere  and  need  not  be  dwelt  on  further. 

The  family  tends  to  keep  itself  pure.  Its  power 
over  its  own  members  is,  in  itself,  felt  to  be  unlimited, 
and  a  member  may  be  punished  or  expelled  for  bad 
behavior.  In  simpler  civilizations  the  power  of  life 
and  death  is  regularly  left  in  the  hands  of  the  parents 
or  the  father.  Even  among  the  later  Romans  the 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  375 

father  had  the  legal  right  to  put  to  death  the  new- 
born child,  and  in  earlier  times  this  right  seems  to 
have  extended  to  the  older  children  also.  The  prac- 
tice of  killing  the  drones  of  the  hive  is  a  similar  case 
among  the  bees.  We  may  notice,  also,  again,  the  ten- 
dency, in  families  of  all  animals  that  have  homes,  to 
keep  the  Extra-Body  clean.  Details  may  be  found 
in  the  chapter  on  the  Material  Instinct. 

Individuals  outside  of  the  family  are  felt  to  be  so. 
They  have  no  claim  on  the  family  impulses,  and,  so 
far  as  it  is  concerned,  do  not  exist.  If  such  individ- 
uals attempt  to  interfere  with  the  family  or  to  join  it 
—to  eat,  sleep,  or  live  with  it  — they  are  ejected  with- 
out sympathy.  They  have  no  right  to  the  family 
sympathy  and  love.  The  right  to  hospitality,  ac- 
knowledged in  certain  countries,  is  not  a  permanent 
right  to  the  family,  but  the  more  general  right  of  men 
as  human  beings.  It  is  a  fine  trait  and  not  found 
among  most  barbaric  nations,  or  even  among  the 
civilized,  who  commonly  regard  strangers  as  without 
claims  of  any  sort  upon  the  family  sympathy. 

Family-Material  are  also  the  relations  of  the 
family  within  itself.  Each  member  has  the  Social 
impulse  toward  all  the  others.  Hence,  there  is 
mutual  assistance,  sympathy,  and  the  like.  The 
feeling  is  regularly  stronger  in  the  mature  individ- 
uals of  the  unit,  the  immature,  though  cooperating 
a  little,  being  rather  helped  than  really  doing  any- 
thing for  the  unit.  They  are  also  regularly  less 
strongly  Social  than  the  mature  members,  at  least  in 
man.  In  most  animals,  including  man,  there  is  also 


376  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

a  difference  between  the  parents,  the  less  Personal 
parent  being  usually  the  more  Social.  This  is  usually 
the  mother,  a  word  that  stands  for  so  much  that  is 
helpful,  devoted,  and  sympathetic.  If  the  family 
instinct  is  combated  by  the  other  instincts,  its  prompt- 
ings are  very  distinctly  felt  as  moral — hence  the  duties 
qfjjarents  and  children  toward  each  other. 

We  have  already  mentioned  some  of  the  marvellous 
cooperative  acts  of  parents.  Such  are,  for  instance, 
the  laying  of  eggs  in  places  where  food  suitable 
to  the  young  will  be  found,  as  in  many  insects;  the 
collection  of  suitable  food  for  the  young,  either  in 
advance  (as  in  the  mud-wasp),  or  afterward  (as  in 
birds).  Sometimes  the  young  are  fed  in  special  ways, 
e.  g.,  by  regurgitation  in  most  birds,  or  from  milk- 
glands  in  the  mammalia. 

But  there  is  one  case  (and  there  may  well  be  many 
others)  in  which  the  situation  is  different,  and  the 
probable  facts,  if  of  a  Social  nature,  not  so  easy  to 
imagine.  This  is  the  turning  over  of  their  eggs  by 
certain  birds,  e.  g.,  the  domestic  hen.  Not  all  birds 
do  this,  but  it  is  not  uncommon,  and,  what  is 
very  important,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  in  some 
cases  in  which  it  occurs,  if  the  eggs  are  to  hatch. 
The  yolk  of  these  eggs  is  heavier  than  the  rest 
of  the  contents,  and  is  not  held  in  place  in  any 
secure  way,  so  that  it  sinks  to  the  lower  side  if  the 
egg  is  left  too  long  in  one  position.  This,  of  course, 
kills  the  egg.  The  turning  of  the  eggs  thus  seems 
plainly  helpful,  cooperative,  and  therefore  Social. 

The  most  evident  Darwinian  theory  would  sup- 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  377 

pose  that  hens  gradually  acquired  the  habit  of  turn- 
ing their  eggs — those  who  turned  producing  more 
offspring  than  others,  etc.  But  such  a  theory  is  open 
to  at  least  two  objections.  In  the  first  place,  the 
eggs  would  have  been  selected,  not  the  acts  of  the 
hens.  Only  the  eggs  which  needed  no  turning 
would  at  first  have  hatched,  and  they  would  have 
been  selected.  On  the  other  hand,  was  ever  a  habit 
more  frivolous  and  less  heritable,  to  all  appearances, 
than  a  purposeless  turning  over  of  an  egg  ?  A  more 
plausible  theory  of  the  same  sort  would  be  this:  that 
the  turning  of  the  eggs  is  a  mere  nervous  trick  found 
in  certain  birds,  and  that  after  it  was  well  and  per- 
manently developed,  the  yolks  no  longer  needed  sup- 
port in  the  eggs,  and  hence  the  support  gradually 
failed.  This  last  seems  a  plausible  hypothesis,  and 
is,  of  course,  quite  acceptable  to  our  theory.  The 
case  has  all  the  appearance  of  an  accident  in  nature. 
Nevertheless,  it  should  be  absolutely  settled,  first 
of  all,  that  it  is  such  an  accident  and  not  a  true  case 
of  Social  sympathy.  As  is  well  known,  the  hen  will 
sit  on  anything  resembling  an  egg.  She  will  even  try 
to  hatch  out  what  is  in  a  door-knob.  It  would  seem 
from  this  that  there  can  be  no  great  sympathy  or 
even  intelligence  in  her  relation  to  her  eggs,  but  this 
is  not  so  certain.  If  I  look  at  a  photograph  and 
smile  at  it,  it  does  not  follow  that  I  am  deceived  into 
thinking  it  my  live  friend.  So  the  hen  who  looks  at  a 
white  door-knob,  or  even  a  china  egg,  may  be  moved 
to  sit  and  yet  not  be  deceived;  it  may  satisfy  her  im- 
pulse somewhat  without  for  a  moment  misleading 


378  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

her.  Mr.  Lloyd  Morgan's  experiments  with  chickens 
have  made  it  clear  that  memory  also  plays  a  very 
large  part  in  such  actions.  We  have  mentioned  else- 
where the  hen  who,  having  raised  a  brood  of  ducks 
and  grown  accustomed  to  them,  afterward  hatched  a 
brood  of  chickens,  and  was  found  insisting  that  the 
new  brood  should  enter  the  water  and  swim  as  the 
first  brood  had  done.  If,  then,  a  hen  sits  on  a  door- 
knob and  even  turns  it  at  proper  times  with  her  feet, 
it  still  does  not  follow  that  there  is  no  Social  sym- 
pathy between  her  and  a  real  egg,  impelling  her  to 
turn  it  over.  The  treatment  of  the  door-knob  may 
be  merely  associative  memory.  If,  however,  a  hen 
of  no  experience  will  sit  upon  china  eggs  and  turn 
them,  then  it  will  be  fairly  certain  that  the  act  is  a 
mere  nervous  trick,  like  the  turning  of  the  dog  before 
he  lies  down.  It  seems  most  probable  that  it  is  such 
a  trick,  for  it  is  not  evident  what  the  exact  nature  of 
the  communicated  impulse  could  be. 

The  family  performs  many  acts  in  common.  Per- 
haps the  most  notable  in  man  is  the  Material  one  of 
eating.  The  eating  together  of  families  is  not  merely 
an  individual  act;  it  is  more  like  a  family  rite,  and  is 
regularly  felt  so.  The  stranger  who  eats  with  a  fam- 
ily is  felt  to  be,  by  that  act,  an  adopted  member  of 
the  family,  at  least  pro  tempore.  The  individuals  of 
the  family  owe  duties  to  him,  and  he  to  them.  If  it 
is  discovered  that  he  is  an  enemy,  he  must  be  allowed 
to  depart  in  safety;  if  he  does  some  harm  in  or  to  the 
family,  the  crime  is  unnatural  and  revolting.  Hence 
the  many  obligations  between  family  and  guest; 


A^R 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  379 

hence  the  special  significance  of  banquets  and  feasts, 
and  the  attractive  associations  about  such  words  as 
hospitality,  welcome,  hosts,  and  such  places  as  tav- 
erns, inns,  and  the  like.  Hence,  also,  the  obligation 
and  the  flavor  of  the  farewells  and  good-bys  (God  • 


The  relationship  through  eating  is  recognized  in  the 
word  companion  (mess-mate),  and  no  doubt  also  in 
comrade  (tent-mate  or  room-mate),  though  the  latter 
recognizes  the  bond  as  established  also  by  sleeping  in 
the  same  room  or  dwelling.  Sleeping  together  as  a 
family  act  is  found  commonly  among  the  lower  ani- 
mals. Quails  sleep  in  a  close  circle  with  all  their 
heads  pointing  out.  The  hen  and  her  young  also 
form  a  family  group  at  night. 

It  is  impossible  for  the  family  to  exist  without  the 
entrance  into  it  of  Personal  relations.  These  are, 
however,  considered  in  general  to  be  foreign  to  it  as 
a  family.  In  man  Personal  sex  is  usually  considered 
wrong  except  as  between  the  parents,  and  is  usually 
a  private  matter  with  them.  Moreover,  the  laws  of 
both  Personal  and  Material  decency  are  commonly 
felt  by  all  the  mature  members  of  the  family.  It  is 
felt,  in  short,  that  certain  Personal  and  Material 
matters  do  not  concern  the  unit  as  a  whole.  More- 
over, the  lesser  acts  of  the  Personal  impulse  when 
opposed  to  the  Social  are  felt  to  be  wrong  in  the 
family.  Partiality,  rivalries,  and  the  like,  are  felt  to 
be  out  of  place. 

Nevertheless,  the  Personal  instinct  enters  into  the 
state  of  every  actual  human  family.  Fathers,  and 


380  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

particularly  mothers,  often  kiss  and  fondle  and 
"sweetheart"  and  "darling"  their  children;  and 
almost  always  treat  some  better  than  others  for  Per- 
sonal reasons.  Moreover,  the  position  of  the  man 
toward  the  rest  of  the  family  is  regularly  Personal 
to  some  extent.  He  may  beat  or  otherwise  terrorize 
both  his  wife  and  the  children,  not  because  they  do 
wrong  but  because  they  oppose  him.  Obedience  is 
given  him  not  merely  because  he  is  superior  in  initia- 
tive or  goodness,  but  quite  as  often  because  of  Per- 
sonal or  Material  fear.  Hence,  among  many  lower 
races  it  is  the  woman  who  does  the  work,  except 
when  she  is  unable  to,  or  when  there  is  some  Personal 
attractiveness  in  it,  as  in  hunting  or  fishing.  Hence, 
also,  the  condition  approaching  slavery  in  the  wives 
of  Turks,  Chinese,  the  ancient  Greeks,  and  to  some 
extent  in  most  of  the  nations  of  the  world.  In  the 
most  primitive  nations,  however,  such  as  the  natives 
of  America  and  Australia,  woman  holds  no  degraded 
position,  but  is  in  some  respects  superior  in  power 
and  influence  to  man.  The  Personal  form  of  the 
family  is  thus  apparently  a  result  of  a  certain  devel- 
opment in  civilization. 

In  the  Personal  form  of  the  family  the  mother,  in 
her  turn,  is  Personally  superior  to  the  younger  chil- 
dren, and  may  terrorize  them  into  subjection;  though 
when  the  children  are  strong  enough  they  quickly 
reverse  the  position  both  as  regards  the  mother  and 
also  the  father,  for,  of  course,  Personal  treatment 
educates  the  members  of  the  family  to  be  strongly 
Personal  in  all  their  Social  acts  and  thoughts. 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  381 

In  many  civilizations  the  family  includes  not 
merely  the  parents  and  the  offspring,  but  also  slaves 
or  servants.  The  position  occupied  by  them  is,  like 
that  of  the  other  members,  regularly  Personal.  The 
man  and  wife  and  children  all  may  terrorize  them 
and  demand  ob'edience  of  them. 

At  the  end  of  the  list  may  be  placed  the  domestic 
animals,  whether  laborers  or  pets — the  dog,  the 
horse,  the  cat,  the  cow,  the  chickens,  the  ass,  and  the 
goat.  These  are  on  a  lower  plane,  as  a  rule,  than  the 
slaves,  and  may  be  controlled  by  all  the  higher  mem- 
bers of  the  household. 

The  peace  of  the  family  thus  depends  largely  upon 
the  Personal  characteristics  of  its  members.  The 
situation  usually  works  out  into  a  fairly  durable  and 
endurable  and  well-understood  state,  which  may  be 
joyless  enough,  but  on  the  other  hand  may  be  the 
sweetest  and  most  encouraging  and  restraining  and 
Consoling  fact  of  mature  life. 

The  relation  of  the  family  toward  other  families 
may  be  either  Personal  or  Social.  The  former  is  the 
Family-Personal  relation;  the  latter  the  Family- 
Social. 

A  family  is  sure  to  view  other  families  as  units  like 
itself.  Hence  the  Family-Personal  relations  of  love, 
hate,  friendship,  jealousy,  envy,  rivalry,  hostility, 
and  the  like.  These  feelings  are  felt  by  each  mem- 
ber of  the  one  family  toward  the  other  family  as  a 
whole,  and  may  form  a  subject  of  family  talk  and 
Social  excitement.  They  are  not  inconsistent  with 
different  Personal  feelings  between  individuals  of 


382  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

the  two  families,  although  most  commonly  the 
Family-Personal  decides  the  Individual-Personal. 
Important  consequences  result  from  the  Family- 
Personal,  as  will  appear  later. 

The  Family-Social  instinct  is  that  which  causes 
families  to  unite  into  the  various  larger  units  of  so- 
ciety, such  as  clans,  tribes,  cities,  towns,  villages, 
spreading  into  states,  realms,  nations,  peoples,  and 
the  like,  with  subfusions  of  various  sorts.  For  our 
purposes  we  shall  call  all  true  fusions  of  this  grade 
States,  and  their  instincts,  accordingly,  the  State- 
Material,  State-Personal,  and  State-Social.  We  will 
now  turn  to  the  consideration  of  this  unit. 

THE    STATE 

The  State  is  a  Social  union  of  families.  Many 
flocks  of  animals  have  the  State  form  for  at  least 
part  of  the  year.  Thus  the  wild  pigeons,  the  crows, 
the  sea-gulls,  the  swallows  and  swifts,  and  others, 
nest  in  roosts  or  colonies;  the  prairie-dog  does  the 
same;  and  many  of  the  larger  mammals  herd  in 
families.  In  most  of  these  cases  the  family  sense  is 
distinct,  and,  except  among  the  larger  mammals,  in- 
cludes a  sense  of  property.  In  many  other  cases  not 
mentioned,  the  sense  of  property  among  birds  is  so 
great  that  a  flocking  of  families  is  practically  impos- 
sible during  the  breeding  season.  Such  birds  com- 
monly flock  after  the  young  are  able  to  care  for  them- 
selves wholly  or  in  part,  but  whether  any  Family 
sense  remains  in  such  cases  is  not  clear.  In  their  ab- 
sence of  plain  family  ties  these  gatherings  of  birds 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  383 

(and  similarly  of  the  fish),  seem  to  lie  midway  be- 
tween the  State  and  the  Family  forms,  but  on  the 
whole  they  are  rather  to  be  considered  imperfect 
State  forms.  The  birds  which  have  a  distinct  State 
form  during  a  part  of  the  year,  regularly  assume  this 
flock  form  during  the  non-breeding  months. 

The  State  forms  among  animals  have  little  organi- 
zation, as  a  rule,  and  are  commonly  a  mere  company- 
keeping.  Exceptions  are  the  herding  animals,  which 
often  hold  together  and  render  assistance  in  hunting 
or  defence;  and  may  even  set  out  sentinels,  punish 
delinquents,  and  perform  Social  acts  of  individual 
heroism  and  help. 

The  sense  of  property  of  such  flocks  or  herds  is 
slight,  but  (like  the  same  sense  in  many  human 
tribes)  not  altogether  lacking.  They  are  apt  to 
frequent  definite  areas,  over  which  they  may  roam 
and  toward  which  they  doubtless  have  a  certain 
home  feeling.  It  is  upon  such  a  feeling  that  we 
should  rest  our  explanation  of  the  migration  of 
birds.  Birds  apparently  have  two  distinct  Social 
home  feelings,  one  the  Family  home  feeling,  the 
other  the  Flock  home  feeling.  When  they  are  in  the 
Family  form  they  have  a  feeling  toward  some  definite 
spot;  when  in  the  Flock  this  feeling  is  felt  toward 
some  other  region  or  regions;  and  the  Family  spot 
and  the  Flock  region  may  be  thousands  of  miles 
apart.  Thus  in  the  spring  the  Family-Material  in- 
stinct may  call  them  to  Labrador  or  the  Arctic  Circle, 
while  in  the  autumn  the  Flock-Material  may  call 
them  to  South  America.  The  details  of  this  tremen- 


384  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

dous  yearly  movement  are  as  yet  imperfectly  or  not 
at  all  known.  There  is  little  doubt  that  the  actual 
movement  is  a  following  of  a  remembered  (/.  e., 
recognized)  route,  and  some  of  the  routes  now  taken 
by  the  birds  are  believed  to  be  of  great  antiquity 
and  better  suited  to  former  geographic  conditions. 
The  actual  spurs  or  hinderances  to  migration  may 
be  the  temperature  at  night,  the  supply  of  food,  and 
the  direction  of  the  winds.  That  most  bird  migra- 
tion takes  place  at  night  or  very  early  in  the  morning 
is  one  of  its  striking  peculiarities,  and  is  doubtless  of 
great  significance,  though  as  yet  unexplained  except 
by  the  absurd  suggestion  that  night  travel  is  safer 
than  travel  by  day.  J$^i^^£_^ 

That  the  human  State  is  thought  of  as  composed 
essentially  of  families  is  shown  by  many  customs  and 
rights  recognizing  that  unit.  Such  are  the  rights  of 
the  family  to  property,  and  the  acknowledged  right 
of  the  family  to  control  its  own  affairs,  extending  in 
certain  cases,  as  we  have  seen,  to  the  power  of  life 
and  death.  The  Englishman  boasts  that  his  house 
is  his  castle,  and  that  the  State,  even,  must  stay  out 
of  it.  In  primitive  States,  moreover,  it  is  families 
rather  than  individuals  that  rule  and,  even  in  more 
advanced  civilization,  it  is  the  householder  who  is 
considered  and  has  power,  even  though  the  man 
have  no  wife  and  children.  He  is  a  family  in  his  in- 
terests, though  lacking  certain  members. 

In  modern  times  and  especially  in  America  the  ten- 
dency seems  to  be  to  consider  the  State  as  an  aggre- 
gation of  individuals.  The  home  is  pretty  freely 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  385 

invaded  and  regulated  by  law;  its  individual  mem- 
bers possess  property;  and  the  man  with  no  home 
interests  is  given  equal  rights  with  the  rest.  It  fol- 
lows easily  from  such  a  conception  that  the  breaking 
up  of  families  through  divorce  should  seem  a  matter 
of  slight  consequence,  and  the  property  right  highly 
questionable.  Any  theory  of  the  State,  however, 
that  is  built  upon  such  a  conception  we  may  feel 
sure  will  fall  into  more  or  less  serious  mistakes.  If, 
or  instance,  the  suffrage  were  confined  to  the  ma- 
ture members  of  families  (fathers  and  mothers)  and 
the  property  holders,  it  seems  clear  that  it  would  be 
far  more  nearly  normal — far  more  interested  in  the 
State  and  far  less  subject  to  wild  whims  and  preju- 
dices— than  it  is  at  present. 

The  State-Material  instinct  is  the  Social-Material 
instinct  of  the  individuals  of  the  State  in  so  far  as  it 
is  aroused  by  the  State.  As  the  State  is  composed  of 
the  bodies  of  its  citizens,  so  the  Extra-bodies  of  the 
citizens,  /.  e.,  their  lands  and  possessions,  may  be 
considered  and  are  considered  the  home  or  possession 
of  the  State.  The  State  also  owns  property  belong- 
ing to  none  of  its  citizens.  Such  are  roads,  public 
lands,  buildings,  money,  and  the  like.  All  the  landed 
possessions  together  commonly  make  one  tract, 
which  is  called  the  country.  Any  man  who  owns 
land  in  a  country  is,  in  so  far,  a  citizen  of  that  country, 
and  there  is  not  infrequently  a  bar  against  such  own- 
ership by  those  not  actually  professing  citizenship 
and  accepted  as  citizens.  Nevertheless,  although  the 
land  of  the  citizens  is  the  country,  and  is  felt  so, yet  it 


3S6  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

is  so  in  the  same  sense  as  the  citizens  are  the  country, 
/'.  e.y  men  have  the  same  right  in  land  as  in  life,  and 
the  State  can  rightfully  interfere  in  one  or  the  other 
case  only  as  a  distinct  public  interest  demands  it. 
Civilized  countries  recognize  this  and  provide  that 
all  such  interferences  shall  be  made  good  to  the 
owner  and  shall  not  occur  without  good  cause.  Un- 
doubtedly this  relation  is  clearly  felt  by  all.  Private 
property  is  felt  as  private,  although  a  part  of  the 
country;  and  the  feeling  of  an  American  in  thinking 
of  Yellowstone  Park  or  of  the  Capitol  at  Washington 
is  quite  a  different  thing.  These  are  the  property  of 
the  nation. 

The  arable  land  of  a  State  if  unoccupied  is  felt  to 
signify  potential  citizens.  It  is,  therefore,  a  desire  of 
the  State-Material  instinct  to  fill  out  the  body  of  the 
State  by  having  this  land  occupied.  Hence  the  en- 
couragement of  immigration  in  young  States.  Often 
the  State  has  an  idea  of  what  its  body  should  be,  and 
dreams  of  absorbing  territory  or  even  continents. 
Hence,  sometimes  in  young  States,  a  desire  for  con- 
quest and  the  acquisition  of  territory.  This  desire, 
like  the  similar  one  in  the  cells,  regularly  results,  if 
successful,  in  overgrowth  and  a  consequent  splitting 
up  of  the  State  into  several  States.  Many  nations 
have  had  this  experience. 

Entrance  into  a  State  is  commonly  through  birth, 
but  may  take  place  formally,  either  upon  the  acquisi- 
tion of  new  territory,  or  through  individual  natural- 
ization. There  is  probably  no  nation  in  the  world 
that  has  not  been  much  affected  by  these  assimila- 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  387 

tions.  The  tendency  to  bring  about  complete  assimi- 
lation of  the  parts  of  a  State  is  also  State-Material. 
This  will  be  mentioned  again. 

The  feeling  of  the  individual  toward  the  State  is 
the  duty  called  clannishness,  patriotism,  or  allegi- 
ance. That  between  individuals  is,  of  course,  the 
duty  of  sympathy  and  cooperation. 

Individuals  outside  of  the  State  have  no  claim  to 
the  State  sympathy  and  helpfulness.  Quite  regularly 
they  are  felt  to  have  no  claim  to  any  sympathy.  No 
foreigner  in  any  country  can  escape  this  fact  en- 
tirely. Sometimes  he  will  be  put  to  death;  in 
other  cases  stoned  or  abused  or  ejected;  in  the 
best  case  he  may  expect  to  be  laughed  at  (Per- 
sonal). He  is  outside  the  Social  unit  and  is  at  a 
disadvantage. 

Men  inside  the  State  are  treated  like  outsiders  if 
they  do  not  follow  its  laws  and  customs.  Like  the 
foreigners  they  are  felt  to  hinder  the  perfection  and 
purity  and  strength  of  the  State.  Such  men  may  be 
conservative,  old-fashioned,  reformers,  or  criminals. 
The  insane  also  used  to  suffer. 

Of  conservatives  we  may  mention  the  Tories  of 
the  American  Revolution,  and  similar  individuals  in 
every  revolution.  Reformers  are  in  almost  every 
case  thought  to  be  evil  men,  e.  g.,  Socrates,  Luther, 
Galileo,  Kant,  and  Darwin. 

Of  criminals  it  may  be  noted,  at  the  risk  of  repeti- 
tion, that  there  are  several  kinds  and  many  degrees. 
Some  are  abnormal;  others  are  not  evenly  propor- 
tioned, another  instinct  being  stronger  than  the 


388  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Social;  others,  again,  are  weak  either  in  mind  or 
in  Social  instinct. 

To  this  last  class  most  men  belong  in  some  degree. 
Many  men  who  are  honest  in  their  families  have  no 
feeling  when  it  is  a  question  of  dishonesty  to  the 
State,  or  even  to  a  corporation.  Many  who  are  honest 
in  a  corporation  feel  little  obligation  toward  individ- 
uals outside,  or  to  the  State.  Many  who  feel  the 
obligation  to  the  State  feel  none  toward  foreigners. 
These  limitations  are  largely  dependent  upon  the 
grasp  and  understanding  of  the  mind,  and  are  thus 
dependent  upon  the  grade,  rather  than  upon  the  pos- 
session, of  the  Social  instinct. 

Hence,  in  all  countries  it  is  advantageous  to  repre- 
sent the  State  by  some  symbol — a  flag,  heraldry,  a 
king,  a  god,  or  a  song;  or  to  have  it  expressed  in  some 
simple  stories  of  great  acts  of  great  individuals. 
Such  things  help  the  mind's  grasp,  and,  since  most 
men  have  little  grasp,  are  of  inestimable  practical 
value.  Hence,  also,  a  real  political  value  in  an  aris- 
tocracy. Education  and  mental  training  evidently 
have  Social  worth  also  as  strengthening  the  mind's 
grasp.  On  the  other  hand,  simple  good  laws  and 
good  customs  are  a  regular  mainstay  of  the  State; 
and  the  non-enforcement  of  good  laws,  or  the 
multiplication  of  legal  or  governmental  details  be- 
yond speedy  and  efficient  usefulness,  or  beyond  the 
understanding  of  the  common  man,  may  be  a  serious 
hinderance  to  Social  virtues. 

The  State  has  regularly  the  power  of  life  and  death 
over  its  members.  Originally,  families  were  punished 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  389 

rather  than  individuals,  but  this  custom  has  fallen 
into  disuse,  and  the  death  penalty  itself  seems  to  be 
dying  out.  The  State,  however,  still  exerts  the  right 
to  employ  the  lives  of  its  citizens  in  war,  whether  in 
offence,  defence,  or  when  the  State  has  no  real  inter- 
est in  the  outcome.  It  is  felt  to  be  the  duty  of  citizens 
to  lay  down  their  lives  for  the  State.  Dulce  et  decorum 
est  pro  patria  mori.  Having  the  power  of  life  and 
death,  of  course  all  lesser  rights  of  the  State  over  its 
citizens  may  be  taken  for  granted. 

The  most  important  act  of  the  State-Material 
instinct  is  perhaps  the  orderly  arrangement  of  the 
State  within  itself.  It  is  felt  by  all  good  citizens  that 
the  State  should  work  smoothly,  but,  owing  to  the 
Material  and  especially  the  Personal  factors  in  the 
problem,  this  has  not  been  a  simple  matter  and  is 
not.  Indeed,  progress  toward  the  accomplishment 
of  it  is  the  advance  of  civilization,  and  it  has  been,  or 
has  seemed,  exceedingly  slow.  We  can  attempt  only 
the  slightest  outline  of  it. 

To  begin  with,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  in  a  union  of 
families,  each  family  would  naturally  act  as  a  unit, 
and  in  this  action  would  inevitably  follow  and  be  led 
by  its  domineering  Personal  masculine  leader.  The 
man  decided  upon  the  acts  of  his  family;  the  family 
followed  him.  Hence,  while  it  is  true  that  the  family 
centres  largely  about  the  mother,  the  State,  on  the 
other  hand,  may  be  said  to  be  almost  exclusively  the 
product  of  the  man.  For  this,  as  we  might  thence 
infer,  he  is  also,  as  a  sex,  far  better  fitted.  Man  is  in 
general  more  bold  and  active  and  inventive  (Per- 


390  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

sonal),  has  more  interest  in  distant  and  imaginary 
affairs  (Personal  again)  than  woman  has.  This  is 
likely  to  result,  in  good  minds,  in  wider  and  better 
balanced  sympathies  (Social),  and  thus  in  a  better 
grasp.  Thus  he  has  had,  and  continues  to  have, 
more  interest  in  the  State. 

In  the  original  arrangement  of  the  State  the  Per- 
sonal factor,  even  more  than  in  the  family,  was  regu- 
larly the  determining  one.  The  father  managed  the 
sons,  if  possible,  even  after  they  were  married  and 
had  families  of  their  own.  He  was  finally  deposed, 
either  by  one  of  them  or  by  death,  and  the  power 
went  to  the  strongest  (Personal).  Thus  in  all  primi- 
tive races  the  chief  is  a  warrior.  In  some  of  the 
primitive  tribes  he  may  be  deposed  by  any  one  who 
can  or  will  do  it.  This  primitive  state  of  things  is 
found  also  in  such  organizations  as  robber  bands. 
It  is  not  unlike  the  condition  found  in  the  herds  of  the 
higher  animals,  and  it  often  results,  as  among  the 
animals,  in  polygamy.  As  a  rule,  an  absolute  power 
of  life  and  death  is  in  the  hands  of  the  leader 
or  chief. 

As  the  tribe  grows,  the  leader  or  chief  discovers  that 
policy  and  management  may  count  for  nearly  as 
much  as  force.  Thus  a  strong  fighter  may  become 
chief  by  general  consent,  and  may  build  up  a  bul- 
wark of  retainers  about  him.  He  may  also  choose  his 
successor  from  among  his  sons  (since  the  tribe  is  felt 
to  be  made  up  of,  and  therefore  ruled  according  to, 
families) — subject  perhaps  to  the  general  fact  that  he 
who  can  may  depose  the  chief.  Such  depositions, 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  391 

however,  cease  to  be  strictly  individual,  and  must 
be  supported  by  some  party  or  clique. 

The  last  step  of  this  advance  occurs  when  the 
State  attains  a  really  considerable  size.  Here  the 
sorting  out  goes  much  further,  and  there  arise  vari- 
ous ranks.  The  man  who  can  rule  a  number  of  fami- 
lies contests  with  another  who  can  rule  a  number, 
and  all  the  families  follow  the  victor.  The  ruler  is 
the  greatest  warrior  and  the  most  skilful  schemer; 
and  he,  more  and  more,  takes  advice  from  those  who 
are  under  him.  The  strong  men  of  the  State  thus 
grow  into  a  subfusion  for  mutual  support,  and  the 
actual  chief  leaves  much  to  them.  More  and  more 
offices  become  hereditary,  and  the  heir  is  sure  of  his 
position  if  he  can  retain  the  favor  of  the  king  and  the 
powerful  nobles.  Meanwhile,  men  who  have  become 
dangerously  or  respectably  strong  by  their  own  exer- 
tions are  being  constantly  received  into  the  higher 
ranks  of  the  rulers,  for  there  gradually  come  into 
existence  various  ranks,  more  or  less  changing,  down 
to  the  families  that  are  practically  or  actually  slaves. 
Heredity  becomes  fixed  as  law  and  right,  and  the 
State  becomes  settled — and  the  nobles  no  longer 
need  to  fight. 

Thus  arose  such  institutions  as  caste  and  class; 
with  innumerable  distinctions  such  as:  king,  duke, 
marquis,  earl,  monarch,  prince — all  military  titles; 
nobility,  lord,  lady,  gentleman,  and  the  rest;  peers, 
parliaments,  peasants,  menials,  servants,  slaves, 
thralls,  dependents,  partisans,  officers,  police,  citi- 
zens, rabble,  varlets,  and  the  like.  All  became  hered- 


392  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

itary,  within  limits,  and  grew  to  have  the  full  support 
of  custom. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  all  these  distinctions  are  by 
origin  Personal  and  not  Social;  and  that  all  date 
from  the  early  warlike  barbaric  condition  of  man- 
kind. Moreover,  as  a  matter  of  actual  fact,  the 
higher  orders  were  in  no  way  answerable  to  the  lower 
for  what  they  did.  Against  these  all  crimes  were 
freely  permitted  them.  Robbery,  murder,  adultery, 
and  the  like,  went  on  unrebuked,  and  the  last-men- 
tioned crime  is  even  now  considered  not  only  no 
offence  to  the  State,  but  even  something  of  an 
honor  to  the  wronged  family,  in  certain  parts  of 
Europe. 

Meanwhile,  a  similar  advance  was  taking  place 
along  Material  lines.  Business  and  trading  grew, 
especially  in  certain  geographical  centres.  In  business, 
however,  violence  could  not  be  the  rule.  Laws  and 
customs  founded  upon  the  right  of  property  were 
developed.  Property  of  all  sorts  (like  Personal  posi- 
tion) became  hereditary  in  families.  But  as  these 
developments  took  place,  it  became  evident  that  the 
Material  method  was  destined  to  be  exceedingly  im- 
portant. Men  must  eat  to  live,  and  what  they  eat 
is  property — Material  possessions.  Hence,  he  who 
can  control  much  property  can  control  profoundly 
the  fate  of  other  men.  He  can  compel  them  to 
work  for  him  and  feed  him  in  order  that  they 
may  live  at  all.  And  if  the  law  and  custom  of  the 
land  make  the  property  hereditary,  his  children  and 
grandchildren  forever  may  compel  others  to  feed 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  393 

and  clothe  and  protect  and  otherwise  care  for  them, 
for  the  mere  privilege  of  living  at  all.  Against  such 
power,  Personal  valor  was  nothing.  Hence  the  no- 
bles took  possession  of  immense  lands  and  so  secured 
for  themselves  a  double  power./  At  the  present  day 
the  power  of  the  nobility  in  all  countries  rests  en- 
tirely upon  this  custom  of  the  inheritance  of  prop- 
erty, and  their  immense  landed  estates  have  not  only 
been  inherited  but  in  some  countries  used  to  be  en- 
tailed, /'.  e.y  could  not  be  sold  or  in  any  way  leave 
the  holder  of  the  title.  The  power  so  obtained,  how- 
ever, is  practically  unlimited,  since  there  is  commonly 
no  legal  redress  if  a  tenant  is  thrown  out  to  starve 
either  for  or  without  reason.  s 

In  certain  places,  however,  and  especially  in  sea- 
port towns  and  cities,  the  Material  development  took 
place  without  much  interference  from  the  Personal. 
As  in  such  places  many  were  successful,  and  as  these 
had  no  way  of  compelling  one  another — and  money 
is  a  lover  of  peace — the  merchants  and  property 
holders  ruled.  Thus  grew  up  a  complex  and  crowded 
life  built  upon  the  Material  conception  of  Society; 
and,  unlike  the  Personal,  which  is  always  violent  and 
irregular,  it  was  constructive.  It  elaborated  upon  the 
rights  and  duties  of  citizens;  it  discovered  some  of 
the  elements  of  justice  and  morals;  it  stood  for  in- 
tegrity and  reliability  and  safety.  It  was,  in  a  word, 
much  more  ready  to  be  purely  Social  than  the  Per- 
sonal was,  for  it  is  possible  to  be  Social  and  still  to 
make  money;  indeed,  it  is  necessary  to  be  somewhat 
Social  to  carry  on  any  business;  while  the  Personal 


394  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

wins  chiefly  by  transgressing  Social  rights  and  cus- 
toms. 

In  the  course  of  time  the  Material  ideas  have 
shown  themselves  to  be  distinctly  stronger  than  the 
Personal.  The  nobles  have  not  only  become  more 
nearly  Material  themselves,  but  they  have  constantly 
had  to  compromise  with  the  business  men,  either  ad- 
mitting some  of  them  to  the  nobility  or  allowing  them 
certain  rights.  Thus,  Personal  positions,  as  such, 
have  come  to  seem,  and  to  be,  more  and  more  an- 
tique and  unessential  encumbrances  in  the  State. 
In  some  new  countries  they  have  not  been  allowed 
to  gain  a  foothold  at  all.  In  all  the  old  countries 
(except  perhaps  Russia)  they  have  been  limited  and 
controlled  so  as  to  be  reasonably  obedient  to  Material 
and  Social  interests. 

In  America  it  is  felt  that  the  inheritance  of  Social 
positions  of  power  is  a  plain  absurdity,  since  such 
inheritance  so  often  falls  upon  unworthy  shoulders. 
In  the  primitive  State  this  was  not  so  bad,  for  the 
principle  of  inheritance  was  not  strictly  followed. 
The  unfit  son  lost  what,  if  fit,  he  might  have  had. 
Thus  the  State  was  flexible,  and  strong  men  tended 
to  come  to  the  front.  We  perceive  that  the  modern 
State  should  be  equally  flexible,  and  that  no  man_ 
should  come  to  the  front  except  by  individual  merit— 
and  that  this  merit  should  be  Social  (z.  e.,  directed  to 
the  ends  of  the  State),  and  not  Personal  or  Material. 
In  the  actual  working,  the  results  are  not  altogether 
satisfactory,  and  perhaps  never  can  be,  since  men  are 
and  will  be  moved  by  Personal  and  Material  mo- 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  395 

fives.  Nevertheless,  the  American  experiment  is  a  A 
distinct  success,  and  shows  no  trace  of  reverting  to  ' 
the  old  Personal  forms  of  government  seen  in  Europe. 

But  while  the  Personal  inheritance  of  Social  office 
seems  to  have  been  satisfactorily  settled,  the  Material 
inheritance  of  Social  power  has  hardly  been  touched. 
This  problem  we  have  already  stated.  A  man  by 
economy  and  ability  may  amass  a  great  fortune,  and 
with  it  an  enormous  power  over  his  fellow-men. 
This,  if  honestly  acquired  and  used,  no  State  has 
the  right  to  deprive  him  of.  But  when  the  question 
arises  as  to  the  inheritance  of  this  enormous  power 
over  his  fellow-men,  it  is  plain  that  in  essence  it  is 
the  same  question  as  that  of  the  inheritance  of  any 
other  political  power.  In  so  far  as  wealth  is  a  home- 
stead, /'.  e.y  actual  property  owned  and  worked  by  the 
family,  it  seems  a  good  regulation  that  it  should  be 
heritable;  it  keeps  up  a  Family  sense  that  is  restrain- 
ing and  encouraging;  but  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  Personal 
or  Social  power,  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  be 
more  heritable  than  any  other  Personal  or  Social 
power,  such  as  the  presidency  or  a  senatorship. 

This  question  has  not  yet  been  settled  practically, 
or  even  fairly  met.  What  has  happened  in  history  is 
that  property  has  gradually  come  into  the  hands  of  a 
very  few  who  have  then  grievously  misused  it,  and 
have  finally  been  deprived  of  it  by  a  popular  up- 
rising. Such  were  the  Reformation  in  Germany, 
the  same  movement  in  England,  and  the  Revolution 
in  France. 

The  Personal  forms  of  the  State  may  be:    autoc- 


396  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

racy,  despotism,  tyranny,  absolutism,  theocracy, 
demagogism,  monarchies,  slavery,  and  the  like.  The 
more  purely  Social  forms  are  called  republics,  or  de- 
mocracies. The  Social  State  as  opposed  to  the  wilful 
Personal  State  is  called  freedom  or  liberty,  the  other 
being  oppression  or  tyranny.  It  should  be  noted, 
however,  that  freedom  is  often  used  with  a  distinctly 
Personal  meaning,  /.  e.,  as  meaning  a  freedom  from 
the  necessity  of  obeying  any  imposed  laws. 

The  State-Material  instinct  has  as  one  of  its  moral 
aims  the  bringing  into  unity  and  sympathy  of  the 
members  of  the  State.  The  Personal  method  of  ac- 
complishing this  is  terrorization.  The  most  famous 
exposition  of  this  method  is  that  of  Machiavelli. 
Machiavelli  was  a  good  and  patriotic  man  who  had 
the  interests  of  the  State  closely  at  heart.  He  per- 
ceived clearly  that  to  be  strong  a  State  must  have 
unity  and  the  support  of  its  citizens.  This  condition, 
however,  he  thought  could  be  best  brought  about 
by  the  Personal  method — for  he  himself  was  brought 
up  in  a  Personal  State.  To  such  a  State  his  book 
seems  eminently  practical  and  wise,  and  all  the  Per- 
sonal governments  in  the  world  follow  it  more  or 
less.  It  comes  to  seem  atrocious,  however,  in  pro- 
portion as  governments  become  more  purely  Social. 

The  Social  solution  of  this  same  question  has,  as 
we  have  said,  progressed  slowly,  but  has  now  grown 
to  be  very  complex.  Not  only  is  speech  used  to  bring 
citizens  in  touch  with  one  another,  but  mechanical 
inventions  of  various  sorts  have  been  turned  to  the 
same  use.  Such  are  the  railroad,  steam-boat,  tele- 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  397 

graph,  telephone,  and  printing  press,  which  are  not 
merely  Material  inventions  but  are  distinctly  Social 
as  well,  and  have  often  been  compared  to  the  blood 
vessels  and  nerves  of  the  commonwealth.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  are  the  inventions  for  the  uniformity 
of  the  actions  of  the  State  (laws  and  customs);  and 
the  instruments  for  enforcing  them  (courts  of  justice 
and  the  police);  and  the  means  of  making  them 
when  necessary  (governmental  bodies,  representative 
or  of  the  whole  people).  The  struggle  against  the 
old  Personal  methods  has  brought  out  also  the 
Social  right  of  equality  before  the  law,  and  the  desire 
to  make  all  citizens  as  nearly  equal  as  nature  will 
permit.  Hence  popular  education,  boards  of  health, 
and  the  like.  Many  apparently  slight  inventions  have 
influenced  the  Social  life  profoundly,  e.g.y  eye-glasses, 
the  electric  light,  and  the  electric  car. 

It  is  becoming  also  more  and  more  evident  that  in 
proportion  as  the  Social  side  of  the  State  is  developed 
and  the  Personal  and  Material  sides  obliterated,  the 
need  of  government  grows  less.  The  moral  side  ap- 
peals to  all  men,  and  needs  scarcely  any  support  from 
force;  the  Personal  side  on  the  other  hand  is  always 
violent,  rebellion-provoking,  uneconomical,  and  un- 
practical. Criminals  there  will  always  be,  and  the 
State  must  attend  to  them,  but  in  a  country  like 
America  the  man  who  does  what  he  thinks  right  need 
scarcely  know  that  there  are  any  laws.  In  such  a 
country,  moreover,  the  largest  part  of  the  activities 
of  the  people  are  quite  apart  from  the  government. 
Hence,  by  the  way,  such  a  State  is  very  hard  to  under- 


398  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

stand— hat_dej  even  to  understand  than  are  individ- 
uals who  are  free,  natural,  and  happy. 

The  advance  or  change  from  the  Personal  form  of 
State  to  the  Social  or  Material-Social  form  is  one  that 
can  be  made  only  with  extreme  difficulty.  The  man- 
ner of  thought  in  a  Personal  State  is  Personal,  and 
this  permeates  to  the  very  bottom  and  to  the  least 
affairs  of  life.  Mr.  Bryce  in  his  "American  Com- 
monwealth" observes  that  "it  is  an  old  saying  that 
monarchies  live  by  honor  and  republics  by  virtue," 
and  this  is  a  way  of  stating  the  contrast  between  the 
Personal  and  the  Social  ideal.  And  it  must  be  easily 
evident  that  the  change  of  ideal  from  honor  to  virtue 
is  tremendous,  and  not  to  be  accomplished  by  an  act 
of  will,  for  it  is  a  change  of  interest,  a  change  of 
dominating  instinct.  It  is  thus  almost  impossible  for 
any  individual  to  be  purely  Social  in  a  community 
whose  instincts  are  strongly  Personal;  and  the  com- 
munity itself  can  change  only  gradually. 

Thus,  for  instance,  if  there  is  a  revolution  or  other 
governmental  change  in  a  Personal  State,  there  is 
ordinarily  no  great  progress.  The  new  rulers  are 
likely  to  be  even  more  overbearing  than  the  old  ones, 
for  their  conception  of  the  State  is  just  as  Personal 
when  they  rule  as  it  was  when  they  cringed.  Nor  is 
it  true  that  the  lower  classes  develop  a  Social  manner 
of  thought  among  themselves.  Their  interests  also 
are  Personal  and  each  is  eager  in  some  way  to  put 
down  his  neighbor.  Thus,  there  are  grades  below 
grades,  down  to  the  very  bottom,  each  cringing  to  the 
one  above  and  towering  up  in  the  presence  of  those 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  399 

below.  Those  who  have  not  observed  this  form  of 
State  themselves  may  get  an  idea  of  it  by  reading  the 
rather  merciless  stories  of  the  author  of  "  Elizabeth 
and  her  German  Garden."  She  finds  this  State 
both  in  England  and  in  Germany,  and  is  herself 
strongly  of  the  type.  OS2-/^  ^JU 

When  foreigners  from  Personal  States  come  to  the 
United  States,  their  behavior  is  very  characteristic- 
ally Personal.  Those  of  the  lower  classes  are  very 
humble  for  a  few  months  and  sometimes  very  much 
longer,  after  which  they  are  likely  to  grow  extremely 
impudent  and  overbearing.  If  nobody  will  kick 

~1_  .  _  1  ^"~~~^-  "^ "*"  I     »_  ^  ~~*H|  illlH"!     Ill  "" 

them,  it  is  because  it  is  a  nation  of  inferiors  who 
must  be  kicked!  Then  gradually  it  dawns  upon  them 
— often,  however,  it  is  their  children  who  first  learn- 
that  there  is  a  third  possible  condition,  and  that  they 
need  be  neither  cringing  nor  overbearing  but  may  be 
jimply_equal  to  their  fellow-men.  Adult  foreigners  of 
the  educated  classes  (with  their  minds  full  of  memo- 
ries and  thoughts)  rarely  learn,  but  ordinarily  cringe 
and  are  overbearing  in  America  all  their  lives.1  The 
change  to  the  Social  is  felt  even  in  the  family.  For- 
eigners are  apt  to  be  far  more  violent  and  domineer- 

1  "People  meet  on  a  simple  and  natural  footing  with  more  frank- 
ness and  ease  than  is  possible  in  countries  where  every  ony  fa  gUtf* 
Looking  up  or  jflptjpg  dowfr.  There  is  no  servility  MI  the  part  of  the 
humbler,  and  if  now  and  then  a  little  of  the  'I  am  as  good  as  you' 
rudeness  be  perceptible,  it  is  almost  sure  to  proceed  from  a  recent 
immigrant,  to  whom  the  attitude  of  simple  equality  has  not  yet  be- 
come familiar.  ...  It  raises  the  humbler  classes  without  lowering 
the  upper;  indeed,  it  improves  the  upper  no  less  than  the  lower  by 
^expunging  that  latent  uwfr"^  wfaichdcfonnithe  manners  of  so 
many  of  the  European  rica  or  great."  Bryce,  "American  i^mfflflB-* 
orrHTp.  663- 


400  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ing  with  their  wives  and  children  than  their  Ameri- 
can-born children  afterward  are,  for  the  American 
family  tends  distinctly  to  be  Social  rather  than  Per- 
sonal in  its  internal  economy — as  was,  of  course, 
inevitable. 

An  illustration  of  the  difficulty  of  the  change  from 
the  Personal  to  the  Social  in  a  large  community  is  to 
be  found  in  the  Southern  States  of  this  country. 
Before  the  war  of  1861,  this  part  of  America  was  or- 
ganized in  a  Personal  form  of  State.  There  were  the 
slave-holders,  the  negroes,  and  the  poor  whites,  each 
forming  a  distinct  class,  and  with  a  distinct  Personal 
relation  of  superiority  and  inferiority.  The  outcome 
of  the  war  was  the  legal  disruption  of  this  form  of 
State.  Before  the  courts,  thereafter,  whites,  blacks, 
and  poor  whites  were  to  be  equal.  The  so-called 
"negro  question"  is  the  result.  The  whites  cannot 
conceive  of  equality,  before  the  law  or  under  any 
other  circumstances.  Thus  the  negro  question  is 
chiefly  a  psychological  and  not  chiefly  an  economi- 
cal one.  If  the  Personal  factor  could  be  eliminated, 
the  impudent  negro  would  shortly  disappear,  and 
the  question  take  its  proper  (and  no  doubt  still 
very  serious)  Social  form.  This  is  not  meant  as  a 
claim  that  the  negro  question  as  it  stands  is  one 
of  easy  solution;  on  the  contrary,  as  has  been  said, 
the  change  from  a  Personal  to  a  Social  form  of  State 
is  so  difficult  as  to  be  wellnigh  unheard  of,  and  if  it 
is  to  take  place  in  the  South  it  must  mean  a  profound 
change  in  most  of  the  thoughts  and  interests  current 
there. 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  401 

The  State-Personal  instinct  is  the  feeling  of  the 
State  (found  in  its  individuals  as  members  of  the 
State)  toward  other  States.  As  in  the  case  of  fami- 
lies, this  feeling  is  consistent  with  quite  opposed  feel- 
ings between  individuals  of  the  two  States.  The 
State-Personal  impulse  may  be  love  or  friendship, 
but  up  to  the  present  has  been  almost  exclusively 
rivalry  and  hatred.  So  far,  no  nation  has  risen  to  beN 
treated  as  having  rights  that  must  be  respected  ex- 
cept through  war  with  other  nations;  and  the  condi- 
tion of  the  world  is  that  of  an  armed  peace,  and  a 
more  or  less  bitter  envy  and  hatred.  Such  a  view  of 
world  politics  is  inevitable  between  nations  whose 
internal  policies  are  wholly  or  in  part  Personal. 
America  with  its  more  Social  form  of  government 
shows  little  sign  of  viewing  the  world  so,  though  indi- 
viduals (politicians,  soldiers,  and  the  like,  of  strongly 
Personal  traits  themselves)  not  infrequently  do. 
It  is  the  bane  of  the  present  condition  of  the  world 
(Socially),  but  probably  will  not  cease  until  the  in- 
side of  the  cups  and  platters  is  cleaner.  It  may  be 
noted  here  that  a  considerable  portion  of  the  actual 
wars  of  history,  e.  g.,  the  Napoleonic  and  Franco- 
Prussian,  have  had  little  or  nothing  back  of  them 
except  this  State-Personal  impulse. 

The  State-Social  instinct  is  that  which  would  be 
satisfied  by  a  union  of  nations  as  nations  without  re- 
gard to  Personality.  Instances  of  such  unions  are 
perhaps  that  of  the  states  of  the  United  States,  and 
(with  a  Personal  element)  that  of  England  and  her 
colonies.  Further  advances  are  foreshadowed  by 


402  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

treaty  agreements.  These  are  made  with  a  certain 
amount  of  sacrifice  on  each  side,  but  with  distinct 
Social  satisfaction.  The  same  pleasure  is  felt  in  the 
constant  growth  of  the  habit  of  settling  disputes 
amicably  and  by  arbitration.  It  seems  even  as 
though  a  standing  court  for  this  purpose  might 
come  into  existence  in  the  near  future.  It  is  to  be 
noticed  that  in  proportion  as  nations  grow  from 
the  Personal  phase  of  government,  they  grow  peace- 
able, though  still  willing  to  fight  in  a  Social  cause. 
Fighting  for  the  honor  of  the  nation  is  felt  in  all  civ- 
ilized States,  even  now,  to  be  insufficient  and  regret- 
table without  a  moral  support.  Undoubtedly,  there 
are  numerous  signs  to  make  us  believe  that  the 
sense  of  accountability  to  the  Social  opinion  of  the 
world  is  a  growing  force  in  the  deliberations  of  in- 
dividual States,  and  we  may  hope  that  this  sense  will 
some  day  put  an  end  to  unjust  Personal  wars. 

The  same  sense,  we  may  hope,  will  put  an  end  also 
to  wars  entered  upon  from  Material  or  Social-Ma- 
terial reasons,  though  these  are  perhaps  even  harder 
to  control.  Probably  the  larger  proportion  of  mod- 
ern wars  have  belonged  to  this  type.  Instances  are 
the  Boer  War,  and  the  Chinese-Japanese  and  Russo- 
Japanese  wars.  Such  conflicts  are  commonly  de- 
scribed as  "inevitable." 

Treaty  obligations  and  international  agreements 
are  the  highest  of  the  present  actual  Social  bonds. 
Beyond  lies  only  the  duty  to  humanity,  felt  to  some 
extent,  at  least  in  theory,  by  all  good  men,  but 
scarcely  represented  by  any  organization. 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  403 

Within  the  State  there  are  a  large  number  of  sub- 
fusions,  and  to  these  we  will  devote  the  last  pages  of 
this  chapter. 

Social  subfusions  are  those  Social  units  that  are 
not  actually  or  historically  independent.  They  often 
could  not  exist  independently  of  the  larger  units  in 
which  they  occur.  Otherwise  they  are  in  all  respects 
like  other  Social  units.  They  take  place  according  to 
some  sympathy  of  the  component  individuals  or 
families;  they  carry  with  them  a  sense  of  duty  toward 
those  within  the  unit  and  of  no  duty  to  those  outside; 
they  have  their  Material,  Personal,  and  Social  ten- 
dencies; they  often  have  a  past  and  a  future  imposing 
duties  upon  them. 

Social  subfusions  vary  greatly  in  closeness  and 
durability.  Some  are  mere  chance  aggregations,  as 
crowds,  throngs,  and  the  like.  Others  have  only  a 
little  organization,  as  mobs,  bands,  and  the  like, 
which  may  have  some  one  bond  of  strong  sympathy 
and  cooperation  but  otherwise  may  be  without  per- 
manence or  cohesiveness.  Organizations,  again,  may 
be  real  but  informal,  as  in  the  classes  of  Europe 
—peasants,  bourgeois,  "society,"  and  the  like;  and 
the  smallest  of  all  subfusions,  friendships.  Some- 
times the  organization  is  more  formal  than  real,  as  in 
associations  of  scholars,  literary  men,  actors,  teachers, 
and  the  like.  Many,  however,  are  solid  and  durable 
and  important,  e.  g.,  political  parties,  educational 
institutions,  churches,  secret  societies,  partnerships, 
trusts,  labor  unions,  and  so  on.  The  number  of  sub- 
fusions  in  the  modern  State  is  very  large.  Organiza- 


404  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

tion  is  sometimes  said  to  be  the  "watchword"  of  our 
age.  It  may  be  well  to  examine  a  few  of  these  sub- 
fusions  in  detail;  the  nature  of  all  is  similar. 

Churches  are  Social  fusions  according  to  sym- 
pathy in  religious  and  moral  matters.  They  some- 
times recognize  the  family  unit  within  them,  and  in 
the  Christian  Apostolic  Church  the  family  may  some- 
times have  been  the  unit  of  membership  (Acts  xvi, 
31).  In  addition  to  the  living  members,  churches 
sometimes  include  those  who,  having  died,  are  con- 
sidered as  alive;  and  of  course  they  stand  in  some 
relation  or  other  to  a  living  God.  The  qualification 
for  entrance  is  intellectually  a  profession  of  submis- 
sion to  the  association  and  its  rules,  and  a  subscrip- 
tion to  its  formal  beliefs.  This  is  called  a  profession 
of  faith  or  a  confirmation.  The  arrival  at  this  state 
of  mind  may  be  conversion;  the  state  of  the  new 
member  may  be  called  redemption  or  salvation.  The 
forms  gone  through  with  at  the  time  of  admission 
may  be  baptism,  cleansing,  blessing,  absolution, 
consecration,  and  the  like.  Obedience  to  the  laws  of 
the  organizations  is  called  righteousness,  uprightness, 
holiness,  piety,  godliness,  saintliness,  lowliness,  and 
the  like.  Disobedience  to  church  laws  is  called 
blasphemy,  sacrilege,  profaneness,  heresy,  or  hetero- 
doxy. Those  outside  of  the  organizations  are  morally 
outcast,  and  are  reproached  or  hated  or  anathema- 
tized as  secular  or  worldly  or  bad;  or  they  may  excite 
pity.  Expulsion  from  churches  takes  place  for  diso- 
bedience and  may  be  excommunication  or  anathema. 
Churches  gather  together  at  intervals  or  on  special 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  405 

occasions  and  perform  Socially  certain  characteristic 
rites  such  as  prayer,  singing,  sacrifice,  and  com- 
munion. Prayer,  fasting,  charity,  teaching,  and 
mutual  aid,  are  also  among  their  laws  for  individu- 
als. There  are  also  special  rites  connected  with 
births,  marriages,  and  deaths  of  the  members  of  the 
organization,  but  modern  churches  are  not  all  of 
them  exclusive  in  the  use  of  these,  and  indeed  some 
of  them  regularly  suppose  that  there  may  be  non- 
professing  Christians.  Leaders  of  churches  are 
called  bishops,  ministers,  popes,  priests,  deacons, 
saints,  missionaries,  and  the  like.  The  action  of  the 
Church-Material  instinct  in  endeavoring  to  acquire 
new  members  is  called  proselytizing,  or  conducting 
revivals;  and  consists  of  teaching,  preaching,  prayer, 
singing,  and  the  like.  Churches  also  own  property 
and  may  have  elaborate  forms  of  government  within 
themselves.  The  Church-Personal  instinct  shows 
itself  in  the  jealousy  and  rivalry,  or  the  affection 
they  often  feel  toward  each  other.  Often,  however, 
and  especially  in  our  day,  they  join  Socially  in  com- 
mon causes,  without  regard  to  Personality,  and  this 
is  Church-Social. 

The  church  has  been  and  is  an  exceedingly  strong 
form  of  organization,  for  it  rests  upon  and  develops 
the  highest  impulses  of  humanity.  Like  other  or- 
ganizations of  great  strength,  however,  its  sects  have 
not  limited  themselves  strictly  to  their  professed  pur- 
poses. Thus  they  have  been  and  often  are  political 
bodies  in  the  common  use  of  that  term.  They  have 
conquered  territories  and  ruled  them,  waged  wars, 


406  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

levied  taxes,  and  so  on.  Some  of  their  details  are 
strongly  Personal,  e.  g.,  the  gorgeous  garments,  cere- 
monies, and  the  like.  They  also,  although  strictly  So- 
cial in  true  aim,  have  made  themselves  in  all  ages 
judges  of  the  Material  truths  of  science,  and  they 
have  often  been  (Materially)  immensely  rich  in  lands 
and  other  possessions.  In  all  these  lines,  however, 
other  organizations  have  arisen  and  have  driven  them 
back,  and  it  is  now  growing  to  be  clear  that,  while 
churches  in  their  moral  urgings  may  properly  use 
the  words  "you  must"  to  the  individual,  the  imper- 
ative stops  there.  We  must  be  good,  i.  e.,  must 
cooperate  and  sympathize  with  our  fellow-men;  but 
the  thousand  and  one  other  "musts"  of  the  churches 
are  gradually  ceasing  to  cause  assent  or  even  rebel- 
lion in  educated  hearts. 

Polite  society  is  a  Social  subfusion  made  according 
to  Personal  sympathies.  Being  largely  Personal  it 
has  no  close  organization,  owns  no  property,  and  de- 
mands little  helpfulness  or  lasting  sympathy  from  its 
members.  Special  forms  of  this  fusion,  however, 
may  be  more  formal,  as,  for  instance,  clubs,  secret 
societies,  and  the  like.  These  often  own  property 
and  demand  more  or  less  Social  cooperation.  En- 
trance into  society  is  a  matter  of  birth  or  of  Personal 
fitness,  and  is  regularly  by  families.  The  laws  of  so- 
ciety are  called  etiquette,  manners,  fashion,  style  and 
the  like,  and  in  all  these  the  Personal  and  Social  nat- 
ure of  the  fusion  tends  to  extreme  formality.  Natu- 
rally a  chief  qualification  is  fitness  in  clothes,  which 
must  be  fashionable,  though  gorgeousness  of  attire 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  407 

and  foppery  (both  thoroughly  Personal)  are  not 
barred.  Men  who  have  natural  gifts  of  the  Personal- 
Social  kind  are  called  elegant,  tasteful,  or  refined.| 
Such  men  are  well-bred,  decent,  polished,  decorous,  \ 
trim,  stylish,  and  the  like,  both  in  other  respects  and  ; 
also  in  speech.  The  height  of  good  taste  is  said  to  be  \ 
cosmopolitanism.  Cleanness  and  neatness  are  ordi-  / 
narily  demanded  of  modern  society  people,  though  in 
former  centuries  ladies  and  gentlemen  did  not  wash, 
and  even  now  powder,  paint,  perfumes,  and  the  like 
may  be  allowed  if  Personally  attractive.  Immorality 
and  extravagance  are  also  sometimes  unobjectionable 
in  society  if  they  be  agreeable  Personally.  Those  out- 
side the  unit  are  thought  of  as  ridiculous  (Personal), 
and  are  considered  beneath  those  within  it — they  are 
either  mocked  or  ignored  or  patronized.  Such  out- 
siders are  described  as  low,  common,  vulgar,  boor- 
ish, rustic,  base,  queer,  shabby,  awkward,  and  the 
like.  The  rites  of  this  Social  unit  are  also  Personal, 
e.  g.,  dancing,  drinking,  gambling,  revelling,  gossip- 
ing, and  conviviality  in  general.  Women  and  men 
array  themselves  and  act,  so  as  to  be  Personally  as 
attractive  as  possible.  /As  the  carrying  on  of  this  sort 
of  life  is  possible  in  its  purest  form  only  to  those  who 
have  few  Material  or  Social  interests,  the  highest 
ranks  are  regularly  made  up  of  the  rich  andjdley  It 
is  natural  that  such  society  should  be  looked  upon 
with  pride,  envy,  and  distrust  by  the  State  in  general. 
It  possesses  all  the  good  and  the  evil  sides  of  the  Per- 
sonal instinct.  It  may  be  charming,  tactful,  gentle, 
beautiful,  witty,  and  perhaps  masculine,  on  the  one 


408  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

hand;  and  on  the  other  regularly  tends  to  be  more  or 
less  sexually  immoral,  drunken,  gambling,  dissipated, 
and  idle.  What  such  individuals  do  or  plan  is  of  no 
possible  advantage  Socially  or  Materially  either  to 
themselves  or  to  others,  and  their  conviction  and  air 
of  superiority  often  moves  the  outside  world  to  mirth 
or  to  envy  and  rage — all  Personal  as  a  rule.  It  may 
be  noted  that  the  army  and  navy,  being  Personal  oc- 
cupations, were  also  Social  subfusions  of  the  same 
sort  as  polite  society,  and  this  is  still  so  in  a  meas- 
ure, though  the  best  soldier  and  sailor  of  modern 
times  is  sure  to  have  close  relations  in  character  to 
the  scholar  and  scientist. 

Corporations  are  Social  subfusions  according  to 
Material  sympathy.  Entrance  to  them  may  be 
through  the  possession  of  money  or  estates,  or  through 
special  business  ability  or  experience.  Those  who 
are  individually  active  in  them  must  in  addition  be 
morally  reliable  and  faithful.  The  corporation, 
however,  is  like  other  Social  fusions  in  that  it  entails 
certain  duties  within  it,  to  which  outsiders  can  have 
no  claim.  Thus,  the  moral  reliability  and  faithfulness 
need  not  extend  outside  of  the  corporation.  The 
members  must  be  honest  and  helpful  within  the  unit, 
but  it  is  not  felt  that,  in  their  corporate  capacity, 
they  must  be  so  to  individuals  outside  of  it  except  in 
so  far  as  it  will  be  advantageous  to  the  unit.  Cor- 
porations are  often  related  to  each  other  as  rivals,  in 
which  cases  the  struggle  may  become  in  part  Per- 
sonal, and  the  rival  may  not  be  considered  to  have 
claim  to  the  ordinary  moral  (Corporation-Social) 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  409 

rights.  Every  sort  of  trickery  and  strategy  may  be 
used  to  destroy  such  a  rival,  even  at  the  cost  of  con- 
siderable temporary  loss  or  even  at  the  risk  of 
trials  in  the  criminal  courts.  In  a  similar  way,  cor- 
porations may  become  enemies  of  their  workingmen 
or  of  the  community  or  even  of  the  State. 

Whenever  a  strong  Social  fusion  within  the  State 
adopts  political  principles  differing  from  those  of 
the  State,  it  may  easily  become  an  object  of  bitter 
hatred  to  the  State  as  a  whole,  for  it  may  seem  to  be 
a  rival  and  an  enemy  of  the  State,  or  perhaps  a 
flaw  in  the  State  purity.  Of  this  nature  has  been 
the  feeling  toward  Catholics  and  Jews  in  certain 
countries.  If  it  were  not  felt  that  these  are  strong 
organizations,  banded  together  for  their  own  private 
ends,  and  comprising,  as  it  were,  States  within 
States,  there  would  be  no  feeling  at  all  concerning 
them.  Creeds  have  never  really  been  the  issue  in 
such  cases.  From  the  same  cause  arose  the  Christian 
persecutions  among  the  Romans.  The  cry  against 
bosses  and  machines  is  also  of  the  same  sort. 

This  dislike  and  hatred  is  sure  to  arise  whenever 
large  numbers  of  any  foreign  nationality  collect  and 
form  a  unit  in  any  country.  In  this  country  Irish 
and  Germans  have  been  viewed  with  suspicion — 
which  disappeared  immediately  when  the  massing 
disappeared.  Few  persons  object  to  individual 
Irish  or  Germans.  Of  the  same  sort  is  the  feeling 
toward  the  Chinese  in  California,  and  the  Italians 
and  Poles  in  various  places.  Few  persons  object  to 
the  individuals  of  these  races,  but  in  San  Francisco 


410  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

the  mob  has  sometimes  gone  to  the  Chinese  quarter 
and  destroyed  and  killed  with  the  maddest  fury.  It 
is  organization  against  organization,  and  for  the  mo- 
ment all  Chinese  are  alike  and  none  have  any  rights 
even  to  life. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  such  conflicts  between 
organizations  are  apt  to  be  far  more  acute  in  cases 
where  some  distinguishing  external  marks  separate 
the  parties.  Thus,  Jews,  Chinese,  and  negroes  are 
commonly  recognizable  at  a  glance,  and  many  for- 
eigners are  known  instantly  by  their  language  or 
accent.  In  such  cases  the  hatred  is  commonly  called 
a  racial  one. 

It  should  be  kept  clearly  in  mind  that  race  hatred 
is  not  at  all  inevitable,  but  is  merely  a  name  for  a 
particular  kind  of  Social-Personal  animosity,  such 
as  may  and  does  exist  between  all  sorts  of  Social  fu- 
sions. No  such  animosity  will  exist  unless  one  or 
both  of  the  races  forms  a  strong  Social  organization. 
Thus  the  Indian  and  the  negroes  do  not  quarrel,  for 
neither  is  strongly  organized.  The  Chinese  and 
Japanese,  on  the  other  hand,  are  organized  and  are 
likely  to  have  trouble  with  strangers,  whether  in  Asia 
or  in  California.  Similarly,  the  Jews  are  always 
strongly  Social  among  themselves,  and  they  get  into 
trouble  all  over  the  world.  The  English  are  very 
like  these  other  races  in  this  respect,  while  the  Irish, 
the  Germans,  the  French,  and  indeed  most  of  the 
European  races,  are  distinctly  less  so. 

A  good  illustration  of  the  possibilities  in  a  race 
question  is  found  in  the  history  of  the  American 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  411 

i 

Indian.  The  Indian  everywhere  received  the  white 
man  cordially  enough.  There  was  no  natural  hostil- 
ity. The  English  settlements,  however  immediately 
formed  themselves  into  strong  Social  organizations 
which  considered  that  the  natives,  being  outside, 
had  no  rights  and  were  undeserving  of  consider- 
ation. The  violent  hatred  of  the  two  races  was  in- 
evitable and  appeared  everywhere.  In  the  Missis- 
sippi Valley  and  in  Canada,  however,  the  French  took 
a  different  position.  Indians  were  called  into  coun- 
cils; their  friendship  was  sought;  they  were  taught, 
and  their  languages  and  customs  were  studied;  in- 
termarriage was  not  infrequent.  The  result  is  well 
known.  The  French  had  no  conflicts  with  the  Ind- 
ians; and  when  war  broke  out  against  the  English, 
the  natives  were  the  firm  allies  of  their  white  friends. 
It  was,  in  a  word,  English  blood  that  thought  that 
there  is  no  good  Indian  but  a  dead  Indian.  The 
French  knew  better. 

Similarly,  the  negro  question  (which  is  in  part  a  race 
question)  works  largely  along  the  lines  of  organization. 
After  the  war  the  whites  were  almost  disfranchised 
and  the  negroes  were  given  a  vote.  Immediately,  of 
course,  the  whites  and  the  negroes  fell  into  two  sepa- 
rate organizations,  and  the  two  races,  which  up  to 
that  time  had  lived  together  without  a  sign  of  hostil- 
ity or  aversion,  became  rivals.  No  doubt,  the  hostile 
feeling  is  far  stronger  on  the  side  of  the  whites,  since 
their  Social  instinct  is  far  stronger  than  that  of  the 
blacks.  They  hold  together  almost  inflexibly.  Laws 
are  passed  annulling  marriages  between  whites  and 


412  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

i 

any  one  having  black  blood  in  any  degree;  against 
allowing  blacks  and  whites  to  be  educated  together, 
or  to  ride  together  on  trains.  Whites  refuse  to  live 
near  them;  to  admit  even  their  cultivated  gentlemen 
into  any  social  gathering;  or  to  call  them  "Mr." 
When  the  President  of  the  United  States  not  long 
since  received  into  his  house  an  eminent  black  man, 
he  aroused  a  roar  of  rage  through  the  white  com- 
'  munities  all  over  the  South.  This  is  all  the  work 
of  the  Social-Personal  instinct  and  is  not  inconsist- 
ent with  strong  Personal  ties  between  individuals  of 
the  two  organizations.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  it  is 
Social,  and  not  caused  by  the  inferiority  of  the  in- 
dividual negroes,  nor  to  be  allayed  by  their  progress. 
The  hope  of  safety  in  all  such  cases  lies  in  a  rea- 
sonable patriotism,  /.  e.,  in  the  willingness  of  both 
units,  however  exclusive,  to  sacrifice  smaller  Social- 
Personal  matters  for  the  good  of  the  larger  commu- 
nity and  the  nation.  Signs  of  such  willingness  are 
never  entirely  absent,  but  such  situations  are  often 
grave,  and  must  be  carefully  met  in  ways  calculated 
to  weaken  the  organization  in  favor  of  the  larger  and 
more  important  organization,  the  republic.  And  the 
same  may  be  said  of  certain  labor-organizations. 
For  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  it  is  not  the  princi- 
ples of  the  organization,  but  the  organization  itself, 
that  is  the  seat  of  the  trouble.  Any  strong  organiza- 
tion by  its  very  nature  is  prone  to  be  intolerant  and 
a  prey  to  violent  hatreds;  and  the  encouragement  and 
strengthening  of  such  fusions  is  an  act  that  will  be 
sorrowfully  reaped,  no  matter  what  the  good  in- 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITS  413 

tended.  It  is  to  be  remembered,  too,  that  an  organ- 
ization is  a  mental  phenomenon,  and  that  its  strength 
is  determined  not  chiefly  by  the  number  of  individ- 
uals composing  it,  but  by  the  sympathy  and  interest 
and  obedience  of  those  individuals.  The  danger  in 
trades-unions,  for  instance,  is  not  in  their  size,  chiefly, 
but  in  their  close  sympathies  and  their  often  fero- 
cious devotion  to  their  bodies — devotion,  /.  e.y  not  to 
principles  but  merely  to  their  organization;  hatred, 
not  of  wrongs,  but  of  the  organization  which  they 
conceive  to  be  hostile  to  their  organization.  And 
these  words  apply  also  to  other  subfusions,  for  this 
state  of  things  is  of  the  nature  of  all  strong  organiza- 
tions, whether  they  be  churches,  trades-unions,  po- 
litical organizations,  or  nations. 


CHAPTER  XII 
TYPES— CONCLUSION 

HAVING  now  gone  over  the  field  of  mental  phe- 
nomena extensively,  it  becomes  our  duty  to  devote 
some  space  to  the  consideration  of  individual  dif- 
ferences. 

Among  the  atoms  and  molecules  there  are  believed 
to  be  no  individual  differences,  but  one  atom  or 
molecule  of  a  given  sort  is  thought  to  be  identically 
like  another  of  the  same  sort.  In  the  living  cells, 
however,  both  of  animals  and  of  plants,  the  indi- 
viduals of  a  species  differ  more  or  less  from  each 
other.  In  the  higher  animals  and  in  man,  finally, 
these  variations  are  often  of  serious  importance,  and 
the  study  of  them  is  pretty  surely  to  be  a  part  of  the 
valuable  and  fruitful  work  of  the  future.  The 
amount  of  individual  variation  within  any  given 
species  varies  greatly  both  in  animals  and  in  plants. 
Most  domesticated  animals  and  plants  are,  like  man 
himself,  highly  variable;  while  most  wild  species, 
often  of  equal  complexity  and  delicacy,  have  com- 
paratively little  variability.  Darwin  thought  that 
variability  is  increased  by  domestication,  but  modern 


414 


TYPES— CONCLUSION  415 

inquiry,  I  believe,  has  not  tended  to  support  that 
idea. 

But  although  individual  variations  are  of  great 
importance,  we  should  keep  our  study  within  narrow 
bounds  indeed  if  we  confined  our  attention  to  them 
alone.  There  are,  even  within  species,  variations 
of  much  more  serious  and  evident  importance. 
Thus,  in  the  individuals  of  the  animals  and  plants, 
there  are  the  variations  in  time.  The  immature  be- 
comes mature,  and  the  mature,  old.  Again,  there 
are  the  variations  of  sex,  the  differences  between 
males,  females,  and  other  forms.  And  again,  there 
are  mutations  or  sports  and  local  varieties  or  races. 
All  these  are  proper  subjects  for  study  and  classifica- 
tion. Thus  we  are  led  also  to  the  variations  of 
genera  and  families,  and  indeed  ultimately  to  the 
variations  between  all  existing  mental  units,  from 
the  atoms  up.  All  these  variations  must  be  studied, 
and  it  should  some  day  be  possible  to  express  all  dif- 
ferences in  common  terms.  It  is  in  this  wider  sense 
that  we  will  approach  the  subject. 

Differences  between  mental  units  may  be  of  three 
sorts:  (i)  in  range  of  interests,  (2)  in  grade  or  degree 
of  complexity,  and  (3)  in  mechanical  qualities.  We 
will  consider  these  three  fields  successively. 

(i).  Differences  in  range  of  interests.  Differences 
of  this  sort  have  been  constantly  before  us  in  the 
course  of  our  discussion.  Such  differences  might  be 
called  differences  in  instincts,  and  these  are  very 
great.  The  atoms  have  impulses  only  toward  atoms. 
The  molecules,  however,  both  toward  atoms  and  tow- 


416  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

ard  each  other.  The  plants  and  animals  add  other 
instincts,  until  in  man  we  find  all  heaven  and  earth 
ransacked  for  their  satisfaction. 

Probably  no  other  form  of  difference  is  so  easy  of 
determination  and  so  important  after  determination; 
and  on  the  other  hand,  probably  no  form  is  so  little 
to  be  brought  within  laws.  We  have  classified  the 
instincts  as  Material,  Personal  and  Social,  but  within 
these  bounds  the  relations,  though  apparently  plain 
enough,  are  relations  of  classification  and  not  of 
evident  necessity  or  cause.  The  physical  forms  of 
plants  and  animals  are  innumerable,  and  all  are  due 
to  the  Material  instinct,  which  is  in  each  case  satis- 
fied— but  what  these  differences  depend  on,  we  have 
scarcely  a  hint  at  present.  Similarly,  the  home  is  a 
product  of  the  Material  instinct,  yet  certain  animals, 
e.  g.,  the  horse,  though  not  weak  on  the  Material 
side,  builds  no  home.  Thus,  although  we  have  no 
doubt  of  a  cause  underlying  the  similarities  and  dif- 
ferences, we  can  at  present  say  little  more  than  that 
certain  animals  have  certain  instincts,  and  certain 
others,  others,  and  that  in  the  living  organisms  these 
can  be  classified  as  either  Material,  Personal,  or 
Social.  It  may  be  well  to  note  here,  however,  that 
all  animals  have  Material  and  Personal  sides,  and 
that  probably  all  are  Social,  at  least  at  times  in  their 
lives.  Even  criminals,  the  rogue  elephant,  and  the 
rogue  man,  etc.,  have  at  least  a  consciousness  of 
kind,  even  though  their  Social  instinct  be  little  more. 
Spiders  are  said  to  be  unhesitatingly  cannibalistic,  yet 
even  they  do  not  devour  their  eggs  or  young  offspring. 


TYPES— CONCLUSION  417 

(2).  Differences  in  grade  or  degree  of  complexity. 
This,  too,  has  been,  at  least  inferentially,  the  subject 
of  much  of  our  discussion.  The  grades  here  referred 
to  are  (i)  Atomic,  (2)  Molecular,  (3)  Cellular,  (4) 
Body,  (5)  Extra-Body,  (6)  Practical,  (7)  Recogni- 
tion, (8)  Thought,  and  (9)  Ideal.  Whether  these 
will  be  found  to  be  sufficient  or  practical,  or  whether 
they  must  be  increased  or  lessened,  experience  must 
show.  In  practice  the  lines  of  demarcation  between 
the  last  three  will  be  found  exceedingly  difficult  to 
draw. 

That  units  differ  in  these  grades  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  The  largest  part  of  the  superiority  of  man, 
indeed,  lies  here.  While  the  lower  animals  often  go 
no  further  than  the  Practical,  and  never  beyond  the 
lowest  Thought,  man  passes  far  beyond  into  the 
Ideal.  As  between  men  there  is  also  a  considerable 
difference,  many  stopping  well  down  in  Thought 
and  others  reaching  a  great  height  in  the  Ideal. 

In  studying  the  grade  of  any  mind,  each  instinct 
and  interest  must  be  examined  separately.  Some 
men,  for  instance,  plainly  reach  a  much  higher  grade 
along  one  line  than  along  another.  Wordsworth 
may  be  cited  as  an  example.  He  was  of  the  Ideal 
grade  in  Social  and  certain  Material  interests,  but 
did  not  understand  Personal  matters  though  not 
lacking  in  physical  sex. 

It  should,  perhaps,  be  recalled  in  this  connection 
that  the  Social  instinct  has  several  more  grades  than 
the  others,  and  that  there  are  corresponding  differ- 
ences in  individuals.  Some  minds  are  Social  no 


418  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

higher  than  the  family;  others  take  in  their  neigh- 
bors; others,  the  city  or  town  or  ward;  others,  their 
country,  and  so  on.  Criminals,  it  is  said,  are  some- 
times good  fathers  and  mothers.  It  is  no  rare  thing 
to  find  a  man  cheating  the  government  without  a 
twinge  of  conscience  who  would  never  think  of 
cheating  a  neighbor  or  a  business  house.  Women 
are  notable  in  this  general  respect,  comparatively 
few  of  them  having  any  clear  Social  sense  beyond 
\  their  families,  though  in  that  unit  perhaps  wonder- 
fully sensitive  and  sensible.  To  this  fact  may  in  part 
be  due  their  failure  as  a  sex  to  do  the  best  work  in 
art,  literature,  politics,  public  speaking,  command- 
ing, and  like  half-Social  activities.  They  are  com- 
monly out  of  touch  with  an  audience  larger  than  that 
about  a  fireside,  and  so  become  either  frightened  or 
else  amazingly  indiscreet.  They  are  usually  equally 
/  lacking  in  orderliness  and  form  in  these  larger  under- 
/  takings.  Of  course  there  are  striking  exceptions. 

A  number  of  words  are  in  common  use  whose  chief 
meanings  are  of  grade.  Thus,  men  of  the  lower 
grades  may  be  called  primitive,  savage,  brutish, 
beastly,  animal,  and  gross,  or  fleshly,  earthly,  and 
carnal.  While  those  of  the  higher  grades  may  be 
lofty,  intellectual,  thoughtful,  ideal,  or  spiritual. 

It  would  seem  that  the  practical  study  of  the 
grades  of  any  mind  should  not  encounter  any  insu- 
perable obstacles.  The  possession  of  an  instinct  of 
any  grade  should  be  easily  proved  by  the  evidence  of 
interest  or  memory  associations  suitable  to  the  in- 
stinct and  grade.  The  problem  is,  of  course,  not  per- 


TYPES— CONCLUSION  419 

fectly  simple,  since  various  environmental  elements 
may  come  in  to  distort  the  natural  workings  of  the 
mind.  With  experience  and  some  ingenuity,  how- 
ever, it  should  be  possible  to  guard  against  these. 

The  study  of  grades,  on  the  other  hand,  promises 
well  as  a  revealer  of  the  laws  of  the  mind.  The  vari- 
ous grades  are  evidently  much  more  intimately  con- 
nected and  interdependent  than  the  ranges  of  the 
mind.  Just  what  this  interrelationship  means  ought 
soon  to  appear.  In  general  it  may  be  said,  even  now, 
that  while  the  lower  grades  do  not  demand  the  higher 
ones — else  all  units  would  reach  the  highest — the 
higher  ones  do  imply  the  lower  stages.  Thus,  any 
harm  or  defect  in  the  lower  stages  of  an  instinct  will 
generally  appear  in  the  higher  stages  of  the  same  in- 
stinct. The  gelded  animal  will  certainly  be  different 
Personally  from  the  ungelded.  Nevertheless,  this 
general  rule  is  certainly  not  the  whole  truth,  and  the 
matter  must  be  examined  in  detail. 

We  note  finally  that  the  advance  in  degrees  is  ac- 
companied by  a  considerable  localization  of  func- 
tions. This  is  being  studied  and  has  been  for  many 
years.  That  it  will  reveal  important  facts  and  per- 
haps laws  in  the  future  can  hardly  be  doubted. 

(3).  Differences  in  mechanical  qualities.  These  we 
have  hardly  touched  upon  heretofore,  but  undoubt- 
edly they  are  of  very  great  practical  importance. 
Mechanical  differences  may  be  classified  as  of  three 
kinds:  (i)  strength,  (2)  sensitiveness  (/'.  e.,  the  amount 
of  influence  required  to  make  an  impulse  definite), 
(3)  quickness  (i.  e.,  the  time  required  for  a  response). 


420  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

A  fourth  point  for  practical  purposes  is  the  evenness 
of  action  or  impulse  from  moment  to  moment.  This 
is,  perhaps,  reserve  strength. 

A  considerable  number  of  words  are  used  to  de- 
note the  lack  or  the  presence  of  the  above-mentioned 
traits,  either  singly  or  in  combinations.  We  will  here 
mention  some  of  them,  in  order  to  fix  clearly  in  mind 
their  meanings.  It  should  be  said  first,  perhaps, 
that  we  suppose  the  suitability  of  all  responses.  If  a 
response  seems  unsuitable,  it  is  to  be  supposed  to 
arise  either  from  a  lack  of  strength  in  the  impulse  or 
of  sensitiveness  to  the  external  influence.  Thus, 
flexibility  and  gracefulness  of  body  or  thought  is  to 
be  ascribed  to  the  strength  of  the  impulse  plus  the 
sensitiveness  of  it,  the  sensitiveness,  of  course,  causing 
the  exact  suitability  of  the  action  to  the  situation,  for 
if  an  impulse  responds  to  slight  influences,  it  will,  if 
strong,  respond  to  strong  impulses  with  an  exact  rec- 
ognition of  their  values. 

Impulses  of  strength  but  of  little  sensitiveness  may 
be  called  coarse,  crude,  raw,  rough,  or  rugged. 

Sensitive  impulses,  on  the  other  hand,  may  be 
fine,  delicate,  nice,  or  fastidious,  and  these  words 
may  be  used  either  with  or  without  implications  as 
to  strength. 

Memories  and  sensations  in  a  sensitive  and  suffi- 
ciently strong  mind  are  said  to  be  vivid;  in  a  less 
sensitive  mind,  vague. 

Lack  of  sensitiveness  in  a  mind  may  be  called 
dulness,  apathy,  torpidity,  inertia,  sluggishness, 
obtuseness,  stupidity,  subnormality,  stoniness,  or 


TYPES— CONCLUSION  421 

phlegm.  Some  of  these  words  imply  a  special  lack 
of  sensitiveness  in  memory-responses,  /.  ^.,  thought. 

If  an  instinct  respond,  the  strength  of  the  response 
may  be  called  intensity,  fervor,  vehemence,  wildness, 
or  even  abnormality. 

If  an  instinct  have  strength  and  therewith  quick- 
ness in  response,  the  quality  may  be  called  energy, 
vigor,  or  force.  A  lack  of  strength  may  be  feeble- 
ness, weakness,  softness,  flabbiness,  sloth,  laziness,  or 
dawdling.  If  strength  be  uneven  from  moment  to 
moment  we  may  have  fitfulness,  vacillation,  muta- 
bility, changeableness,  shifting,  shuffling,  pliable- 
ness,  impressionableness,  or  wildness.  Some  of  these 
words,  however,  are  most  commonly  used  with  other 
meanings,  the  changing  state  being  caused  by  special 
circumstances  and  not  by  any  change  in  the  mind's 
strength.  When  the  special  thought  is  of  the  even- 
ness of  the  mind  from  moment  to  moment,  strength 
may  be  called  endurance,  pertinacity,  perseverance, 
assiduity,  doggedness,  or  plodding;  or  if  the  thought 
of  strength  come  more  to  the  front  we  may  have  stur- 
diness,  strenuousness,  stoutness,  hardness,  or  robust- 
ness. More  general  terms  are  firmness,  decision, 
stability,  solidity,  fixedness,  imperturbability,  com- 
posure, or  equanimity. 

If  considerable  time  is  required  for  responses,  we 
may  have  slowness,  ponderousness,  or  heaviness.  If 
less  time  is  required,  the  quality  may  be  called  swift- 
ness, quickness,  rapidity,  or  dash.  Elasticity,  or  the 
power  to  recover  quickly  from  shocks,  is  a  combina- 
tion of  strength  and  quickness. 


422  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

Strength  in  an  impulse  together  with  sensitiveness 
results  in  flexibility  or  mobility.  The  comparative 
lack  of  this,  in  rigidity  or  stiffness. 

If  strength  and  sensitiveness  result  in  excellence, 
the  mind  may  be  said  to  act  with  skill,  sureness,  accu- 
racy, precision,  expertness,  adroitness,  smoothness, 
or  proficiency. 

If  quickness  be  added,  we  may  have  facility, 
agility,  readiness,  deftness,  or  dexterity. 

Greater  flexibility  may  be  resourcefulness,  capa- 
bleness,  ingenuity,  intricacy,  tortuousness,  sharp- 
ness; or,  with  some  range,  versatility. 

One  of  the  simplest  and  most  important  acts  of 
ingenuity  in  the  realm  of  memories  is  comprehension. 
The  lack  of  this  power  may  be  stupidity,  subnor- 
mality,  imbecility,  idiocy,  and  the  like. 

A  greater  power  of  ingenuity  in  memories  is  im- 
plied in  such  words  as  astuteness,  acumen,  clever- 
ness, discernment,  insight,  keenness,  penetration, 
and  intelligence. 

Lack  of  strength  in  the  impulse  together  with  some 
sensitiveness  and  some  irregularity  in  strength  may 
be  laxity,  looseness,  foolishness,  or  addle-patedness. 

Adequacy  of  strength  and  ingenuity  results,  in  the 
end,  in  coherence,  consistency,  lucidity,  grasp,  mood, 
and  the  qualities  of  weightiness,  breadth,  largeness, 
and  range.  These  often  imply  also  strength  and  in- 
genuity in  several  or  many  instincts  at  once. 

Similarly,  the  absence  of  these  powers  has  such 
names  as  paltriness,  pettiness,  fussiness,  smallness, 
narrowness,  shallowness,  superficiality,  vapidity, 


TYPES— CONCLUSION  423 

credulousness,  gullibility,  and  some  of  the  above- 
mentioned  forms  of  vacillation. 

The  largest  amounts  of  strength  and  ingenuity  are 
found  in  the  traits  of  invention,  imagination,  spon- 
taneity (so  called),  creativeness,  fruitfulness,  fertility, 
talent,  inspiration,  and  genius.  The  lack  of  creative- 
ness  is,  in  general,  sterility. 

We  have  now  explained  our  theory  of  these  various 
mechanical  traits.  It  should  be  noticed  that  we  make 
no  distinction  between  physical  actions  and  brain 
actions.  Some  of  our  words,  indeed,  can  be  used  of 
only  the  one  sort,  but  many  can  be  used  of  both  and 
are  to  be  so  understood.  There  is  no  essential  differ- 
ence in  the  two  sorts  of  acts. 

On  comparing  the  mechanical  differences  with 
those  of  grade,  it  will  be  noticed  that  memory  falls 
among  the  latter.  The  grade  of  a  mind  is  thus  to  be 
determined  in  many  cases  by  its  memory;  whereas 
the  quality  of  the  mind  is  determined  by  its  strength, 
delicacy,  flexibility,  and  the  like.  A  man  may  have 
an  excellent  memory  and  yet  be  rough  and  clumsy 
and  of  no  great  intelligence,  while  one  with  little 
memory  may  be  delicate  and  flexible;  the  first  we 
should  call  a  crude  specimen  of  a  higher  grade,  the 
second  a  fine  mind  of  a  lower  grade.  We  might  say, 
to  illustrate  this,  that  Shakespeare  and  Moliere  were 
minds  of  nearly  the  same  instincts  and  memories, 
and  thus  of  about  the  same  grade,  but  that  in  his 
delicacy  and  flexibility  Shakespeare  is  seen  to  be  of 
far  higher  quality.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  Shake- 
speare were  compared,  say,  with  Goldsmith,  one  of 


424  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

the  chief  differences  is  that  of  grade,  for  Shakespeare 
holds  almost  a  world  in  memory,  while  Goldsmith, 
with  (we  will  suppose)  equal  delicacy  and  flexibility 
and  the  same  instincts,  holds  but  a  much  smaller  por- 
tion of  it.  Of  course,  these  comparisons  are  only  in 
the  rough,  and  the  similarities  between  the  men  are 
not  really  so  close. 

It  is  evident  that  these  mechanical  traits  of  the 
mind  may  often  be  quite  as  important  in  determining 
the  value  of  a  mind  as  are  the  more  fundamental 
ones  of  range  and  grade.  They  should  also  be  com- 
paratively easy  of  examination,  for  they  may  be 
tested,  to  a  considerable  extent  at  least,  by  machinery 
and  similar  exact  means.  The  laws  of  mechanical 
relationships  in  the  variations  of  range  and  grade  are 
not  clear,  but  no  doubt  such  laws  will  be  found. 
Hence,  it  will  be  necessary  to  examine  for  mechanical 
traits  all  ranges  and  grades  separately. 

The  interdependence  of  mechanical  traits  and 
powers,  seems,  on  the  surface,  to  follow  no  evident 
invariable  laws. 

For  instance,  there  are  certain  species  of  birds, 

1 

e.  g.,  the  phalaropes,  in  which  the  female  has  the 
bright  plumage,  and  behaves  in  most  respects  like  a 
male.  It  sings,  courts,  fights,  is  jealous,  does  not  sit 
on  the  eggs  or  care  for  the  young,  etc.  In  this  case 
we  have  an  animal  apparently  of  slight  Personal  gifts 
up  to  the  Extra-Body  grade,  but  in  and  above  that 
grade,  strongly  Personal.  Or,  since  there  is  no  essen- 
tial incompatability  between  a  strong  Personal  and 
a  strong  Social  (reproductive)  gift,  it  has,  more 


TYPES— CONCLUSION  425 

probably,  a  strong  Social  impulse  up  to  the  Extra- 
Body  grade,  and  beyond  that  a  far  weaker  Social. 
It  would  seem,  in  either  case,  that  there  is  a  possi- 
bility of  a  clean  break  in  gifts  at  the  Extra  grade. 
(It  may  be  well  to  note  that,  even  in  this  case,  the  two 
sexes  are  exactly  complementary.  The  male  phala- 
rope  has  the  dull  coloration  and  performs  all  the 
ordinary  acts  of  the  female.  That  males  should  be 
Socially  stronger  than  females  occurs  occasionally 
elsewhere  in  nature,  e.  g.,  in  certain  frogs  and  fish.) 

Again,  although  the  mens  sana  is  regularly  found 
in  corpore  sano,  yet  striking  cases  occur  in  which 
deformed  men  (weak  Body-Material  ?)  are  strong 
in  Thought-Material  impulses. 

Similarly,  again,  grace  and  delicacy  and  strength 
^fjbody  are  no  sure  signs  of  grace  and  delicacy  and 
strength  of  mind,  e.  g.,  in  athletes;  and  conversely, 
good  strong  brains  are  no  sure  sign  of  good  strong 
bodies. 

Indeed,  there  is  quite  commonly  a  difference  in  the 
mechanical  traits  of  brain  and  of  body,  so  that  it 
may  be  said  that  men  fall  into  two  types  according 
to  this  distinction.  Those  who  act  best  in  memories 
may  be  called  reasoning,  in  type;  while  those  who 
act  best  in  physical  movements  may  be  called  un- 
reasoning. 

A  similar  distinction,  but  one  which  should  be  kept 
carefully  separate  from  the  above,  arises  from  the 
difference  in  the  power  of  memories  as  compared 
with  that  of  sensations.  Sensations  are  always 
strong,  but  memories  may  be  very  influential  and 


426  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

even  stronger  in  influence  than  sensations.  The 
type  which  follows  sensations  may  be  called  objective; 
the  other  type,  subjective. 

The  importance  of  distinguishing  the  subjective 
from  the  reasoning,  and  the  objective  from  the  un- 
reasoning becomes  evident  with  a  little  consideration. 
Men  and  animals  of  the  unreasoning  type  are,  of 
course,  objective,  but  men  of  the  reasoning  type  are 
not,  therefore,  necessarily  subjective;  on  the  con- 
trary, in  a  large  percentage  of  cases,  they  are  quite 
as  objective  as  the  animals.  /All  men,  in  short,  rea- 
son more  or  less,  but,  for  many,  certain  sensations 
result  in  throwing  all  reason  to  the  winds/'  Vacilla- 
tion, changeableness,  and  the  like,  are  often  to  be 
ascribed  to  this.  Subjective  minds,  on  the  other 
hand,  are  often  obtuse  or  apathetic  or  stupid  (lacking 
in  flexibility).  They  decide  upon  a  course  of  action 
and  cannot  change  it.  Or  else  they  have  a  slow  time- 
equation,  as,  no  doubt,  in  Wordsworth,  Emerson, 
Pater,  and  many  other  able  men.  The  best  mind 
should,  of  course,  be  one  in  which  sensations  and 
memories  fuse  evenly,  and  in  which  every  action 
is  a  result  of  the  sum  of  the  whole  individuality. 

Similarly,  the  best  minds  should  be  strong  and  of 
other  good  mechanical  traits  in  all  grades.  In  the 
greatest  men  it  is  usually  striking  how  solidly  built  up 
the  mind  is.  Shakespeare  starts  evidently  with  a 
strong  physiological  base  of  elementary  impulses, 
builds  upon  it  a  big  practical  and  thoughtful 
structure,  and  upon  that  a  finely  ideal  super- 
structure. Hence  his  appeal  to  all  grades  of 


TYPES— CONCLUSION  427 

minds  both  in  his  own  day  and  to  a  large  de- 
gree in  ours. 

We  have  now  completed  our  discussion  of  mental 
differences.  It  is  plain  that  the  study  of  them  is  of  the 
utmost  importance.  If  psychology  is  to  have  a  prac- 
tical value  it  must  be  largely  through  its  acquaintance 
with  the  variations  in  individual  minds  and  the  pos- 
sibilities of  their  development  and  usefulness.  Study 
to  this  end  must  proceed  through  the  description  and 
classification  of  actual  minds,  and  the  material  for 
such  study  is  evidently  very  great. 

First  of  all  there  is  the  study  of  actual  living  beings. 
This  should  include  not  only  the  normal  man,  both 
the  ordinary  and  the  extraordinary,  but  quite  as 
certainly  the  abnormal,  the  insane,  and  the  nervous. 
Cases  of  divided  personality  also  arise  from  time  to 
rime;  and  there  are  such  phenomena  as  dreams, 
trances,  and  the  like.  Moreover,  there  are  the  lower 
animals  and  the  plants,  the  study  of  which  may  be 
of  great  importance. 

Besides  these  there  is  a  great  amount  of  material 
from  men  of  the  past.  All  men  of  sterling  worth  in 
the  history  of  mankind  have  been  so  in  part  because  of 
their  mental  sincerity,  and  in  many  cases  their  words 
and  actions  are  known  to  us  in  considerable  detail. 
The  most  evident  cases  are  those  of  the  authors.  All 
authorship  of  worth  is  in  its  nature  a  confession,  and 
of  authors  we  have  not  only  the  strictly  literary,  but 
also  the  philosophic,  statesman-like,  historical,  bio- 
graphical, scientific,  critical,  and  religious.  Other 
records  may  be  no  less  worthy  of  study — confessions, 


428  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

letters,  unworthy  and  foolish  productions,  court  pro- 
ceedings, and  so  on.  It  may  be  presumed  that  almost 
no  forms  of  human  character  are  unrepresented  in 
this  sum  total. 

Such  study  will  not  in  all  details  be  easy  or  simple 
or  perfectly  exact.  It  would  be  folly  to  expect  it  to 
be  so.  Neither,  on  the  other  hand,  will  it  be  found 
to  be  insuperably  difficult,  at  least  on  its  broad  lines. 
Men  have  judged  each  other  with  more  or  less  cor- 
rectness in  all  ages,  and  what  is  here  proposed  is  no 
more  than  that  such  judgments  shall  be  made  more 
systematic,  intelligent,  and  accurate,  and  their  results 
cumulative. 

When  the  work  of  examining  individual  minds  shall 
have  produced  a  greater  or  less  amount  of  statistics, 
it  will  evidently  be  a  desirable  matter  to  classify  the 
minds  examined.  That  this  will  be  possible  there 
can  be  little  doubt.  Certain  combinations  of  in- 
stincts and  traits  will  surely  be  found  together  very 
often.  The  resulting  classes  will  be  called  types. 

How  much  difference  may  we  expect  to  find  in 
men  ?  And  how  much  similarity  ? 

It  is  certainly  a  mistake  to  suppose,  as  some  do, 
that  at  bottom  men  differ  very  little.  Men  often 
seem  to  resemble  each  other  far  more  than  they  actu- 
ally do.  Similarity  of  environment  and  education 
may  result  in  a  seeming  likeness  that  is  quite  super- 
ficial. A  change  in  the  environment  may  bring  this 
out,  as  in  the  cases  of  Lincoln  and  Cromwell.  But 
there  are  also  very  evident  differences.  We  may 
compare,  for  instance,  Washington  with  Edgar  Allan 


TYPES— CONCLUSION  429 

Poe;  a  child  with  a  man;  a  man  with  a  woman;  a 
Newton  with  an  idiot.  None  of  these  differences 
are  superficial;  they  are  not  only  great  but  they  are 
very  profound. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
men  are  not  alike.  The  characters  of  men  differ 
from  each  other  no  more  than  their  bodies  do — if  we 
include  the  whole  body.  Resemblances  are  certainly 
far  more  numerous  than  differences,  and  are  far 
more  numerous  than  many  imagine.  A  strong  and 
regular  show  of  difference  is  caused  merely  by  the 
difference  in  remembered  experiences.  A  man  may 
seem  to  me  to  be  quite  unlike  me  merely  because  he 
has  lived  in  a  different  town,  with  different  parents, 
friends,  teachers,  business  connections,  etc.,  whereas, 
if  we  were  both  stripped  of  these  memories  we  might 
be  strikingly  alike.  That  this  is  often  the  case,  it 
seems  to  me  there  cannot  be  the  least  doubt.  There 
seem  plainly  to  be  distinct  types,  and  some  seem 
very  common. 

The  existence  of  types,  however,  has  never  been 
seriously  doubted.  Indeed,  many  attempts  have 
been  made  in  many  ages  to  distinguish  them  scien- 
tifically. Palmistry  and  phrenology  have  followed 
in  later  times  upon  astrology  and  the  belief  in 
"humors."  The  attempt  has  been  made  to  classify 
criminals  and  others  by  their  skulls,  by  their  color  of 
hair,  form  of  features,  and  so  on.  No  such  attempts 
have  reached  convincing  success,  but  there  can  be  lit- 
tle doubt  that  their  authors  often  recognized  shrewdly 
and  well  what  is  consistent  and  what  inconsistent 


430  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

when  found  in  one  character,  and  that  their  classifi- 
cations from  this  point  of  view  were  often  of  real 
worth.  Nevertheless,  it  may  be  taken  as  certain 
that  minds  ought  to  be  classified  first,  and  heads  and 
hands  afterward,  if  of  sufficient  value;  and  that 
minds  are  to  be  classified  first  fundamentally  and 
last  according  to  separate  superficial  traits. 

What  types  will  be  found  useful  and  frequent  it  is 
impossible  to  say  in  advance  of  actual  tabulations, 
but  if  the  method  of  classification,  just  referred  to, 
be  followed,  it  would  seem  that  in  humanity  at  least 
they  would  be  distinguished  by  differences  of  grade 
and  of  mechanical  traits,  rather  than  those  of  range. 
Classification  should,  of  course,  begin  with  differences 
of  range,  if  it  is  to  be  scientific  and  is  to  include  all 
minds;  it  should  then  be  according  to  differences  of 
grade;  and  finally,  according  to  mechanical  differ- 
ences. The  differences  in  range  in  man,  however, 
will  in  all  probability  be  slight.  Differences  in  grade 
will  be  far  more  in  evidence.  Differences  in  mechan- 
ical traits,  on  the  other  hand,  are  evident  even  to  the 
most  superficial  observer,  and  will  be  of  the  utmost 
consequence. 

As  dependent  upon  difference  in  grade  we  may 
mention  such  types  as  the  reasoning  and  the  un- 
reasoning; the  savage  and  the  civilized. 

Mechanical  differences  might  result  in  such  types 
as  the  Material,  the  Personal,  and  the  Social,  named 
after  the  strongest  impulse;  and  the  Physical,  Prac- 
tical, and  Intellectual,  named  after  the  strongest 
grade.  Types  may  be  formed  also  according  to 


TYPES— CONCLUSION  431 

fineness  or  quickness,  though  these  are  more  diffi- 
cult. In  short,  the  field  here  is  wide,  and  the  sub- 
divisions may  be  numerous. 

No  doubt  many  existing  types  will  be  found  useful 
under  their  present  names.  Thus,  the  normal,  ab- 
normal, and  subnormal;  the  child,  adolescent,  ma- 
ture, and  senile;  the  masculine  and  feminine.  Such 
words  may  be  found  or  invented  almost  indefinitely, 
e.  g.,  French,  German,  English,  etc.;  lawyer,  soldier, 
physician,  merchant,  etc.;  religious,  artistic,  scien- 
tific, altruistic,  reforming,  etc. 

Type-names  will  be  useful,  but  to  be  so,  it  must  be 
made  perfectly  clear  in  detail  what  is  to  be  under- 
stood by  them.  The  discovery  of  the  traits  that  all 
the  individuals  of  a  type  have  in  common,  is  what  is 
necessary  before  a  really  scientific  value  can  attach 
even  to  such  words  as  child  or  feminine  or  normal. 
In  the  case  of  the  professions  and  the  like,  it  may 
very  well  be  found  that  some  of  them  have  no  dis- 
tinct type — that,  for  instance,  the  ideal  surgeon, 
soldier,  and  criminal  lawyer  may  be  different  only  in 
training  and  employment.  Moreover,  there  may  be 
many  distinct  types  within  such  classes.  Thus,  to 
take  the  professions  again,  it  is  plain  that  the  family 
doctor  and  the  surgeon;  the  commander  of  a  hun- 
dred men  and  the  commander  of  half  a  million;  the 
criminal  lawyer  and  the  codifier;  the  educator  and 
the  scientist — it  is  plain  that  these  are  very  different 
men  though  in  the  same  callings.  The  definite  clear- 
ing up  of  such  matters  evidently  may  be  of  value  and 
importance  both  to  those  choosing  professions  and, 


432  A  THEORY  OF  MIND 

not  less,  to  the  professions  themselves,  whose  average 
of  suitable  men  may  thus  be  raised. 

Our  discussion  is  now  complete,  and  the  theory  is 
in  the  hands  of  the  reader.  As  he  will  long  since 
have  perceived,  it  lays  its  emphasis  upon  the  im- 
rjortanc£  of  character  and  upon  the  essential  spon- 
taneity of  action  and  thought.  It  does  not  pretend 
to  explain  these,  but  starting  with  certain  first  truths 
or  axioms  resting  upon  observation  of  the  facts,  it 
attempts  a  thorough  and  broad  analysis  of  the  com- 
mon simple  phenomena. 

That  the  theory  has  significance  in  far  wider  fields 
is  plain.  If  it  is  accepted  and  found  useful  within  its 
limits,  there  will  be  few  departments  of  human 
thought  and  action  ultimately  unaffected  by  it.  I 
hope  that  it  may  be  found  to  be  a  step  toward  that 
more  perfect  self-knowledge  and  self-consciousness, 
without  which  man's  intelligent  progress  is  impossi- 
ble. Unstudied  impulse  has  led  the  world  well,  but 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  science  in  this  field  will 
ultimately  obtain  such  triumphs  and  make  possible 
such  striking  advances,  as  it  has  already  done  in  the 
fields  of  material  affairs. 


INDEX 


ABANDONMENT,  sense  of,  306. 

Abhorrence,  307. 

Abnegation,  315. 

Abnormal-ity,  336,  421. 

Abrupt,  254. 

Absolution,  404. 

Absolutism,  396. 

Abstemiousness,  190. 

Abuse,  253. 

Accord,  333. 

Accuracy,  422. 

Acid,  254. 

Activity,  138. 

Actors,  associations  of,  403. 

Acumen,  422. 

Adaptability,  315. 

Adaptation  of  body  and  mind, 

ft.;  individual,  76  n. 
^•Addle-patedness,  422. 
•'Admiration,  249. 
Adolescence,  138. 
Adoration,  249. 
Adroitness,  422. 
Adulation,  251. 
Adventure,  258. 
Adventurers,  245. 
Adversity,  sense  of,  191. 
Advice,  338. 
Affability,  306,  351. 
Affecting  (adj.),  307. 
Affection,  212,  248. 
Affliction,  339. 
Affront,  253. 
Aggressive,  254. 
Agility,  422. 
Agony,  149,  238. 
Agreeable,  306. 
Agriculture,  189,  192. 
Aid,  307. 
Airiness,  254. 
Alertness,  148. 
Allegiance,  387. 
Allurement,  249. 
Alphabet,  189. 


Altercation,  253. 

Amazement,  155. 

Amenableness,  315. 

Amiability,  249. 

Amicableness,  212,  248. 

Amorousness,  212,  248. 

Analysis,  156,  192;  theory  of ,  99  /. 
/Anarchism,  360. 

Anathema,  404. 

Andersen,  154. 

Anger,  240. 

..Animadversion,  335..  tJL^LiL/lAAAj         ^ 
/    Animal  (adj.),.  418. 

Animal  spirits,  185,.  196,  301 . 

Animation,  238. 

Annoyance,  feeling  of,  151. 
45       Answerableness-,  315-316. 

Ants,  workers,  77;  sex  in,  267- 
268;  honey,  282;  slave-holding, 
296-297;  ejection  of  strangers, 
208. 

Antagonism,  225,  240. 

Anticipation,  155. 

Antipathy,  212,  225. 

Anxiety,  155,  157. 

Apathy,  420. 
^-'  Aphids,  sex  in,  267. 

Aping,  307. 
'  Apology,  339. 

Appealing  (adj.),  249. 

Appetite,  148,  153,  188. 

Applause,  333. 

Appreciation,  307. 

Apprehension,  149,  152. 

Approach,  149. 

Approachableness,  306. 

Approbation,  333. 

Approval,  333. 

Arbitrariness,  355. 

Architecture,  209,  258. 

Archness,  249. 

Ardor,  149. 

Aristocracy,  388. 

Arithmetic,  189;   study  of,  341. 
433 


434 


INDEX 


Army,  on  its  social  side,  408. 
Arrogant,  254. 

Arts,  theory  of,  70,  158;   the  prac- 
tical,   189;     Material,    199    /.; 

Personal,    258;    Social,   361  /.; 

schools  of,  361. 
Artfulness,  251. 
Artifice,  244. 
Asperity,  337. 
Assassination,  244. 
Assiduity,  421. 
Assiduous,  174. 
Assimilation,  61,  71. 
Assistance,  307. 
Association    (See   Social,    Family, 

State,  etc.). 

Assurance,  149,  152,  157. 
Astonishment,  155. 
Astronomy,  192. 
Astuteness,  422. 
Athletic  sports,  343. 
Atom,  the  mind  of,  49  ff. 
Atrocity,  337. 
Attachment,  212,  224,  249. 
Attack,     149;      Material,    174  ft.; 

Personal,  225  /.;    Social,   298; 

cooperative,  292. 
Attempting,  149. 
Attention,  148,  155,  173,  174- 
Attractiveness,  249. 
Audacity,  254.       o  .       / 
/ Auguries,  260.  &^--C--v7 
Augustness,  355. 
Austerity,  337. 
Authority,  love  of,  355. 
Autocracy,  355,  39S-396- 
Avarice,  190. 
Avoidance,  225,  252. 
Awe,  119-120,  193. 
Awkward,  407. 
Axioms,  156,  192;   of  mind,  51  ff., 

56. 

BABY-TALK,  358. 
Backbiting,  335. 
Backsliding,  337. 
Bad,  334. 
Bands,  403. 
Banquets,  379. 
Banter,  344. 
Baptism,  404. 
Bargaining,  190. 
Barking,  217. 
Base,  407. 


Baseball,  343. 

Bashfulness,  151. 

Beards,  208  (2),  213. 

Beastly,  418. 

Beatitude,  306. 

Beauty,  249. 

Beaver's  dams,  167. 

Bees,    workers,    77;     comb,    132, 

281-282;  hoarding  impulse,  176; 

sex  in,  267-268;   cooperation  of 

sexes,     293-294;      ejection     of 

strangers,  298. 

Bellowing,  217,  231,  238,  242. 
Bereavement,  306. 
Betting,  344. 
Bewilderment,  152,  155. 
Bile,  255. 
Billiards,  343. 
Biology,  192. 

Birds,  turning  of  eggs  by,  376  ff. 
Birds'-nests,  167;  theory  of,  282  ff. 
Birth  as  an  illusion,  198-199. 
Bishops,.  405. 
Bitter,  254. 
Blame,  334. 
Bland,  306. 
Blandishment,  251. 
Blasphemy,  404. 
Blessing,  404. 
Bliss,  306. 

Blithesomeness,  196. 
Bloodless,  246. 
Bluff,  336. 
Blushing,  225,  252. 
Bluster,  253. 
Boards  of  health,  397. 
Boastfulness,  255. 
Body,  theory  of,  19  /. 
Body  instincts,  the,  147. 
Body-Material  instinct,  the,  163  ff. 
Body-mind,  41  ff. 
Body-Personal  instinct,  the,  204  ft. 
Body-Social  instinct,  the,  264  ft. 
Boer  War,  402. 
Bohemians,  245. 
Boldness,  149,  174. 
Bombast,  250. 
Boorish,  407. 
Boring,  246. 
Bosses,  409. 
Bounding,  151. 
Bountifulness,  352. 
Bourgeois,  403. 
Bowers,  209  (2). 


INDEX 


435 


Boxing,  345. 

Bragging,  255. 

Brain,  control  of  body  by,  44-45; 

as  intermediary,  89;    relation  to 

other  cells,  89  ff. 
Bravado,  255. 
Bravery,  236,  240. 
Brawl,  253. 
Breadth,  422. 
Breeding,  352. 
Breeziness,  238. 
Brevity,  lack  of,  362. 
Bribery,  335. 
Brightness,  345. 
Brilliance,  345. 
Briskness,  185,  196. 
British,  418. 
British  Empire,  401. 
Brotherliness,  307. 
Browning,  R.,  346. 
Brusque,  254. 
Brutish,  418. 
Bryce,  398,  399  n. 
Building,    189;     instinct,    167   ff., 

J73- 
Building  up  of  the  mind,  theory  of, 

84  ff. 

Bully,  240. 
Bullying,  230,  233. 
Burroughs,  J.,  95. 
Burrows,  167. 
Business,  190,  346. 

CAESAR,  108. 
Cajoling,  251. 
Calculation,  156,  190. 
Camels'  drinking,  176. 
Canny,  190. 
Capableness,  422. 
Capricious-ness,  245,  251,  254. 
Captious,  254. 
Captivating,  249. 
Cards,  344. 
Care,  156,  190. 
Careless,  245. 
Carnal,  418. 
Carping,  254. 
Cassocks,  355. 
Caste,  391. 
Casuistry,  253. 
Caterpillars,  166. 
Catholics,  409. 

Cattle,  behavior  in  herds,  292,  293, 
298,  303-304. 


Causation,  191. 

Cause  and  effect,  123  ff. 

Caution,  155,  190. 

Cavalier  (adj.),  254. 

Cell  instincts,  the,  147. 

Cell-Material  instinct,  the,  163. 

Cell,  mind  of,  60  ff.;  senses  of,  63; 
a  fusion  of  molecules,  60. 

Cell-Personal  instinct,  the,  202 /. 

Cells,  specialization  in,  compared 
with  sexes,  268-269. 

Censoriousness,  337. 

Chaff,  344. 

Chagrin,  243. 

Challenge,  240. 

Champion,  240. 

Changeableness,  251,  421,  426. 

Character  denned,  5. 

Charity,  352,  405. 

Charlatanry,  335. 

Charm,  249. 

Chastity,  359. 

Cheating,  335. 

Cheerfulness,  196. 

Chemistry,  192. 

Chess,  344;   problems,  192. 

Chiding,  338. 

Chief,  390. 

Children,  138;  duties  of,  376; 
American  treatment  of,  399  /. 

Chilliness,  252. 

Chinese,  409,  410. 

Chinese- Japanese  War,  402. 

Chivalry,  351. 

Choleric,  254. 

Church,  Apostolic,  404. 

Churches,  403  ff.;  influence  of  non- 
Social  instincts  in,  405-406. 

Church-Material  instinct,  the,  405 

Church-Personal  instinct,  the,  405. 

Church-Social  instinct,  the,  405. 

Circumspection,  155,  190. 

Cities,  382. 

Citizens,  391. 

Civility,  351. 

Civilization,  theory  of,  108-109. 

Clairvoyants,  260. 

Clans,  382. 

Clannishness,  387. 

Class,  391. 

Classification,  156, 191,  247;  theory 
of,  1 20  ff. 

Cleanness,  407. 

Cleansing,  404. 


436 


INDEX 


Cleverness,  422. 

Closeness,  190. 

Clothes,  209  /.,  406. 

Clothes-wearing  instinct,  167. 

Clubs,  406. 

Coarse,  420. 

Cock-fighting,  356. 

Cocoons,  166. 

Coherence,  422. 

Coition,  theory  of,  220  ff.;  simple 

form  of,  222. 
Cold,  213  (2),  246. 
Combativeness,  240 
Comfort,  168. 
Commendation,  333. 
Commiseration,  307. 
Common  (adj.),  407. 
Communion,  405. 
Companion,  379. 
Comparison,  156,  192. 
Compassion,  307. 
Complacency,  255. 
Complaint,  338. 
Complementary  colors,  151. 
Completeness,  307. 
Compliance,  315. 
Compliment,  251. 
Composure,  421. 
Comprehension,  422. 
Compunction,  339. 
Comrade,  379. 
Conceit,  255. 
Conceptions,  concepts,  156,  188  /., 

246  ff.,  305  ff. 
Conciliation,  338. 
Concupiscence,  212,  248. 
Condescension,  355. 
Condolence,  307. 
Condoning,  338. 
Conduct,  theories  of,  144  /. 
Confidence,  152,  157,  333. 
Confirmation,  404. 
Confusion,  149. 
Congratulation,  307. 
Conjuring,  260. 
Conqueror,  240. 
Conquest,  desire  of,  386. 
Conscience,  313,  365. 
Consciousness,  101  ff.,  191. 
Consecration,  404. 
Conservative,  387. 
Considerateness,  consideratio 

3°7>  3*5- 
Consistency,  195,  422. 


Consolation,  306. 
Consternation,  155. 
Contempt,  252. 
Contentious,  254. 
Contentment,  306. 
Continence,  359. 
Contrition,  339. 
Contumaciousness,  335. 
Conversion,  158,  404. 
Conviviality,  407. 
Cooperation,    211-212,    307;     dis- 
cussion of,  287  ff.;  a  simple  act, 

3i2  /• 

Copulation  (See  coition). 
Coquetting,  251. 
Cordiality,  252,  352. 
Corneille,  154;   and  Racine,  321. 
Corporations,  408  /. 
Correction,  338  (2). 
Corruption,  337. 
Corsets,  209. 
Cosiness,  168. 
Cosmopolitanism,  407. 
Counsel,  338. 
Country,  385  /. 
Courage,  149,  174,  236,  240. 
Courts  of  justice,  397. 
Courtesy,  351. 
Courtliness,  352. 
Courtship,  231  /.,  233,  239;  theory 

considered,  231  /. 
Covetousness,  335. 
Coward-ice,  225,  236,  240. 
Cow-bunting,  296. 
Coyness,  225,  229,  233. 
Crabbed-ness,  307,  337. 
Crafty,  190. 
Craven,  240. 
Craving,  147. 
Creativeness,  423. 
Credulousness,  423. 
Crests,  208. 
Cricket,  343. 
Crimes,  334  ff. 

Criminality,  causes  of,  336  /.,  387  /. 
Cringing,  225,  240. 
Criticism,  156,  192. 
Cromwell,  428. 
Crooning,  250. 
Cross,  254. 
Crowing,  238,  242. 
Crowns,  355. 
Crude,  420. 
Cruelty,  241,  335. 


INDEX 


437 


Crusty,  254. 

Crying,  238. 

Crystals,  26  if.,  68  n. 

Cuckoo,  296. 

Culpability,  339. 

Cunning,  190. 

Curiosity,  138,  148,  156,  173,  189, 

286. 

Curses,  253,  260. 
Customs,  318  /.,  388,  397. 
Cynicism,  337. 

DAINTINESS,  249. 

Dances,  animal,  240. 

Dancing,  151,  407. 

Daring,  240. 

Dark,  fear  of,  286. 

Darwin,  108,  219,  230,  278,  308  «., 

322,  362,  387,  414- 
Darwinian  laws,  9  /.,  48  /. 
Dash,  421. 
Dastre,  A.,  27,  29  /. 
Dauntlessness,  240. 
Dawdling,  421. 
Deacons,  405. 
Death,  33  /.;   fear  of,  194;    as  an 

illusion,     198;     from    Personal 

grief,  238. 
Debasement,  337. 
Debility,  feeling  of,  165. 
Deceit,  336. 
Deceived  satisfactions,  135  ft.;   in 

mature  man,   138  /./  in  ideals, 

159  /.;  in  Personal  choice,  216; 

from  formalism,  319. 
Decency,  359,  407. 
Decision,  421. 
Decorous,  407. 
Deduction,  156. 
Defalcation,  335. 
Defamation,  335. 
Defense,  292. 
Deferential,  319. 
Defiance,  240. 
Defilement,  337. 
Deformity,  336. 
Defrauding,  335. 
Deftness,  422. 
Delectation,  238. 
Deliberation,  190. 
Delicate,  420. 
Delight,  238. 
Demagogism,  396. 
Democracies,  396. 


Demons,  259. 

Demure,  249. 

Denouncing,  338. 

Dependents,  391. 

Depraved,  334~335- 

Depression,  sense  of,  165,  167 

Derision,  255. 

Desert,  fear  of  the,  286. 

Desertion,  sense  of,  306. 

Designer,  189. 

Desire,  104,  148,  153,  188,  243. 

Desolation,  sense  of,  306. 

Despising,  252. 

Despondency,  feeling  of,  165. 

Despotism,  396. 

Destitution,  sense  of,  191. 

Determination,  152,  157. 

Detestation,  212,  225. 

Detraction,  335. 

Development,  29,  62,  72  ft.;  unity 

in,    85   ft.;   through   education, 

107  #. 

Devotion,  249. 
Dewlaps,  208. 
Dexterity,  422. 
Dictatorialness,  355. 
Differentiation,  31  /.,  267  /. 
Diffidence,  225. 
Dignity,  355. 
Direct,  195. 
Disappointment,  155. 
Disapprobation,  334. 
Disapproval,  334. 
Discernment,  422. 
Discomfiture,  243. 
Disconsolateness,  306. 
Discordant,  335. 
Discouragement,  196,  243. 
Discreet,  156. 
Disdain,  252. 
Disgrace,  339. 
Disgust,  307. 
Disinterestedness,  315. 
Dislike,   148,   153,   188,  212,  224, 

225,  243. 
Dismay,  155. 
Disparagement,  335. 
Displeasure,  151. 
Disputatious,  254. 
Dispute,  253. 
Dissembling,  336. 
Distress,  151. 
Diversion,  258. 
Docility,  315. 


438 


INDEX 


Dog,  and  wren,  98;  burying  of 
bones  by,  177  /.;  and  master, 
234  /.;  and  street  urchins,  302  /. 

Doggedness,  421. 

Dogmatic,  254. 

Dogmatism,  253. 

Dolls,  341. 

Domestic  animals,  381;  all  gre- 
garious,315. 

Domineering,  254. 

Doubt,  152. 

Dread,  149,  153. 

Dreams,  belief  in,  260. 

Drink,  246,  407. 

Drollery,  344. 

Dronishness,  335. 

Dry,  246. 

Duelling,  244. 

Duke,  391. 

Dulness,  420. 

Duplicity,  336. 

Duty,  sense  of,  309  /.,  313. 

Duties,  division  of,  among  animals, 
294 /. 

Dutiful-ness,  333,  316. 

EAGER-NESS,  174,  149. 

Earl,  391. 

Earnest,  195. 

Earthly,  418. 

Eating,  172,  174  /.;  as  a  rite,  378. 

Eccentricity,  361. 

Economy,  190;  political,  study  of, 

341- 

Ecstasy,  238. 
Edens,  198,  331. 
Education,  107  /.,  332,  340  #.,  388, 

397- 

Educational  institutions,  403. 

Effeminate,  213. 

Effusiveness,  252. 

Ego,  191;    theory  of,  101  ft. 

Egotism,  196. 

Elasticity,  421. 

Electric,  car,  397;   light,  397. 

Elegant,  407. 

Elements  of  Mind,  The,  48  ft. 

Elephants,  behavior  in  herds,  293; 
jokes  of,  302,  356. 

Elixirs  of  life,  198. 

"Elizabeth  and  her  German  Gar- 
den," author  of,  399. 

Emasculate,  213. 

Embarrassment,  225,  229. 


Embrace,  219. 

Endurance,  421. 

Energy,  421. 

Enervation,  feeling  of,  165. 

Engagement,  372. 

Enmity,  212,  225,  240. 

Enochs,  198. 

Enormity,  337. 

Enthusiasm,  157. 

Enticement,  251. 

Entreaty,  251,  259. 

Envy,  240,  335. 

Epicureanism,  199. 

Equality,  397. 

Equanimity,  421. 

Esteem,  249. 

Ethics,  158,  305  ff.;  passim. 

Etiquette,  406. 

Evasiveness,  336. 

Evenness,  420. 

Evil,  334. 

Evolution,  the  ideological  in,  33  », 

Exaggeration,  253. 

Exasperation,  240. 

Excessive,  335. 

Exclusiveness,  307. 

Excommunication,  404. 

Excuse,  339  (2). 

Execrating,  338. 

Exercise,  feeling  in,  163. 

Exhilaration,  185,  196. 

Exile,  sense  of,  306. 

Exorcisms,  260. 

Expectations,  153,  157. 

Experiment,  156,  189;  Social,  318 

Expertness,  422. 

Expiation,  339. 

Exquisite,  249. 

Extenuation,  338,  339. 

Extra  instincts,  the,  147. 

Extra-Material  instinct,  the,  165 

Extra-Personal  instinct,  the,  208 

Extra-Social  instinct,  the,  281  /. 

Extravagant,  245. 

Exuberance,  185,  196. 

Exultation,  242. 

Eye-glasses,  397. 

FACETIOTJSNESS,  344. 

Facility,  422. 

Fainting,  218,  238. 

Fair,  249,  (Social)  333. 

Fairies,  259. 

Faith,  158;   profession  of,  404. 


INDEX 


439 


Fame,  333. 

Family,  366  ft.;  duration  of,  366  /.; 
breaking  up  of,  367;  beginnings 
of,  367  ff.;  theory  of,  368  ft.; 
and  Personal  sex,  368  ft.;  and 
pregnancy,  371  ft.;  purity  of,  374 
/.;  rites,  378  /.;  Personal  rela- 
tions in,  379  ft. 

Family-Material  instinct,  the,  373  ft. 

Family-Personal  instinct,  the,  381  /. 

Family-Social  instinct,  the,  382. 

Fanatics,  320. 

Fancy,  345. 

Farewells,  379. 

Fascination,  249;   in  fear,  150. 

Fashion,  406. 

Fastidious,  420. 

Fasting,  405. 

Fatalism,  199. 

Father,  power  of,  374~375>  38°- 

Fatigue,  feeling  of,  165,  167. 

Faults,  334,  335. 

Favors,  problem  of,  354  /. 

Fawning,  335. 

Fear,  149,  153,  155;  Material,  180, 
181  ft.,  189,  193;  Personal,  224, 
236;  Social,  286,  306,  308,  322, 
339;  bodily,  44. 

Feasts,  379. 

Feathers,  208,  213,  235,  355. 

Feebleness,  421. 

Feigning,  336. 

Feminine,  213. 

Ferocity,  174. 

Fertility,  423. 

Fervor,  421. 

Feverishness,  185,  196. 

Fine,  420. 

Firmness,  421. 

First  Truths — Kant,  no  ft. 

Fishing,  244,  380. 

Fitfulness,  421. 

Fixedness,  421. 

Flabbiness,  421. 

Flag,  388- 

Flagellations,  317. 

Flat,  246. 

Flat-fish,  adaptation  in,  76. 

Flattery,  251. 

Flaunting,  242. 

Fleshly,  418. 

Flexibility,  422. 

Flicker,  control  of  egg-production 
in,  273- 


Flight,  149,  240. 

Flightiness,  254. 

Flinching,  149. 

Flirting,  251. 

Flocks,  382;  home  sense  of,  383  /. 

Flogging,  338. 

Flourishing,  242. 

Flout,  253. 

Flowers,  Personal  influence  in,  207 ; 
Social  influence  in,  277  /.;  use 
in  gardens,  209;  fading  of, 
221  n. 

Floweriness,  251. 

Fluency,  306. 

Flushing,  225. 

Fondness,  212,  248-249. 

Foolishness,  422. 

Football,  343. 

Foppery,  407. 

Forbearance,  241,  339. 

Force,  421. 

Foreigners,  treatment  of,  387;  com- 
ing to  United  States,  399  /. 

Foreknowledge,  155. 

Forethought,  155. 

Forgiveness,  339. 

Forlornness,  306. 

Forms,  love  of,  319. 

Formal,  334. 

Formalism,  results  of,  319;  in  art, 
361;  in  polite  society,  406  /. 

Fortune,  260. 

Forwardness,  335. 

Foul,  335. 

Fountains  of  youth,  198. 

Fractiousness,  335. 

Frailty,  337. 

Franco-Prussian  War,  401. 

Fraternization,  307. 

Freakishness,  138,  251. 

Free  thought,  328. 

Free-will  and  laws  of  nature,  114. 

Freedom,  390;    possibility  of,  79, 

154- 

French  and  Indians,  410  /. 
Frenzy,  238. 

Fresh  air,  feeling  of,  163. 
Freshness,  196. 
Fretfulness,  185,  196. 
Friendliness,  212,  248. 
Friendship,  224,  239,  403. 
Fright,  149. 
Friskiness,  185. 
Frivolous,  245. 


440 


INDEX 


Frogs,    regeneration    in,    35,    75; 

male,  270. 
Frolicsomeness,  238. 
Frowardness,  335. 
Frugality,  190. 

Fruits,  Personal  influence  in,  207. 
Fruitfulness,  423. 
Fun,  301. 
Fury,  240. 
Fusion,   23  ft.;    not  mediate,  37; 

possibility  of,  38  /. 
Fussiness,  422. 

GAIN,  love  of,  190;  sense  of, 
191. 

Galileo,  i,  387. 

Galls,  77  «.,  285. 

Gallantry,  251. 

Gambling,  246,  344,  407. 

Games,  301  /.,  340  #.  356  /.;  Mate- 
rial, 342;  Personal,  342  /.; 
Social,  340  ft.;  mental  forms, 
344  /.;  rules,  357. 

Gardens,  adorning  of,  209. 

Garrulity,  252. 

Gayety,  238. 

Gelded  animals,  77,  206,  419. 

Gems,  210. 

Generosity,  241,  352. 

Geniality,  249. 

Genius,  423. 

Gentleman-liness,  391,  352. 

Gentleness,  351. 

Genuine,  195. 

Geography,  189;   study  of,  341. 

Geology,  192. 

Geometry,  189-190. 

Germans,.  409,  431. 

Gibes,  255. 

Giggling,  225,  252. 

Gladness,  196. 

Glands,  odoriferous,  206  /.;  semen, 
206 /. 

Glee,  238. 

Gloating,  242. 

Glory,  love  of,  356. 

Glorying,  242,  255. 

Glumness,  151. 

Gluttonous,  174. 

Glycerin,  reproduction  in,  29  /. 

Godliness,  404. 

Goethe,  Herder  and,  321. 

Gold,  210. 

Golden  Ages,  198,  331. 


Goldsmith,  154;  and  Shakespeare, 

423  /• 
Good,  333. 
Good-bys,  379. 
Good  name,  love  of,  356. 
Goodness,  316;  love  of,  310. 
Gossip,  335,  407. 
Governments,  319. 
Governmental  bodies,  397. 
Gowns,  as  insignia,  355. 
Grace,  249. 
Graciousness,  352. 
Grades,  study  of,  418  /. 
Grandeur,  love  of,  355. 
Grasp,  107,  422. 
Grave  (adj.),  195. 
Grief,  238. 
Grinning,  238. 
Gross,  418. 

Growth,  29,  62;   theory  of,  72  ft. 
Grudge-bearing,  243. 
Gruff,  254. 
Grumbling,  338. 
Guardedness,  155. 
Guest,  378. 
Guile,  336. 
Guilty,  335. 
Gullibility,  423. 
Gun,  man  with,  235. 
Gush,  252. 

HAIR,  165,  213. 

Handicrafts,  189. 

Handsomeness,  249. 

Happiness,  151. 

Hard-headed,  190. 

Hardness,  421. 

Harsh-ness,  254,  241. 

Haste,  149. 

Hats,  silk,  355. 

Hate,  153  (2),  212,  225,  240,  243. 

Haughtiness,  252. 

Health,  191;   sense  of,  165,  196. 

Hearing,  63. 

Heat,  feeling  of,  63. 

Heaviness,  421. 

Hectoring,  230,  254. 

Helpful-ness,  333,  307. 

Helplessness,  sense  of,  167. 

Heraldry,  388. 

Herds,  home  sense  in,  383  /. 

Herder  and  Goethe,  321. 

Herding,  189. 

Heresy,  404. 


INDEX 


441 


Hermit-crab,  shell  of,  166. 

Hermit  life,  317. 

Hero-ism,  240,  236. 

Hesitation,  152. 

Heterodoxy,  404. 

Hideous,  307. 

Highmindedness,  316. 

History,  study  of,  341. 

Hoarding  instinct,  the,  177. 

Hobgoblins,  259. 

Holiness,  404. 

Home,  love  of,  188  /.;    sense  of, 

187,  370,  383;    growth  of  sense 

of,  185  /.;  sense  in  animals  and 

some  savages,  383  /. 
Home- building  instinct,  the,  167. 
Homelessness,.  sense  of,  167. 
Homesickness,.  191. 
Homestead,  395. 
Homing  instinct,,  the,  186;   theory 

of,  186  /. 

Honest-y,  333,  195,  316. 
Honey  ants,  282. 
Honey-comb,  177,  281  /. 
Honor,  love  of,  356. 
Hooting,  255. 
Hope,  157. 
Hopelessness,  157. 
Horns,    208,    213;    discussion   of, 

226  /. 

Horror,  307. 
Hospitality,  375,  379. 
Hosts,  379. 
Hostility,  225,  240. 
Houses,  1 68;   decoration  of,  209. 
House- building  instinct,  the,  167. 
Householder,  384. 
Howling,  238. 
Hug,  219. 
Humane,.  333. 
Humidity,  feeling  of,  163. 
Humiliation,  243,  255. 
Humility,  234. 
Humor,  344  ft. 
Humors,  429. 
Hunger,  163. 

Hunting,  173,  189,  244,  380. 
Hurt,  151. 
Hygiene,  189. 
Hypocrisy,  336. 
Hysteria,  218. 

IDEALS,  138;  growth  in,  159;   de- 
ceived satisfactions  in,  i59/. 


Ideal  instincts,  the,  158  ft. 
Ideal-Material    instinct,   the,    197 

n 

Ideal-Personal  instinct,  the,  257  /. 

Ideal-Social  instinct,  the,  359  ft. 

Ideal  type,  the,  418. 

Idiocy,  422. 

Idle,  245. 

Ignominy,  337. 

Ignoring,  252. 

Imagination,  156,  423. 

Imbecility,  422. 

Imitation,  307;  discussion  of, 
288  /. 

Immigration,  386. 

Immoderate,  335. 

Immodesty,  335. 

Immoral,  335. 

Immortality,  200. 

ImmutabDity,  200. 

Impatience,  240. 

Imperious,  254. 

Impertinence,  253,  254. 

Imperturbability,  421. 

Impetuosity,  240. 

Implacability,  337. 

Impressionableness,  421. 

Improper,  335. 

Improvident,  245. 

Impudence,  335. 

Impulses,  identified,  51;  negative, 
53  /.;  in  abstract  thoughts,  134; 
are  unconscious,  137;  in  advance 
of  experience,  137;  in  children, 
138;  at  adolescence,  138;  and 
their  economic  results,  141;  com- 
plete satisfaction  of,  142  /. 

Impulsive  action,  131. 

Impurities,  disposal  of,  178  /.; 
burial  of,  179  /.  (See  purity.) 

Inclination,  148,  153. 

Incoherence,  252. 

Indians,  American,  410,  411;  and 
French,  410  /. 

Indifference,  148,  155. 

Indignation,  307,  334. 

Individuality  within  fusions,  in 
molecules,  25,  57  ff;  in  cells,  60 
ff;  in  multicellular  animals,  igf-, 
35.  39i  68  ff.,  96,  164;  in  Social 
units,  290 /.,  300 /.,  335,  339 /., 
346 /-,  35°/-/  >"  the  family  367, 
279/;  in  the  State.  389 /.;  and 
passim. 


442 


INDEX 


Indomitableness,  240. 
Induction,  156. 
Indulgence,  339. 
Industry,  149,  157. 
Inertia,  420. 
Infamous,  335. 
Infatuation,  249. 
Infinity,  200. 
Infirmity,  feeling  of,  165. 
Influence,  52,  307. 
Ingenuity,  422. 

Inheritance,  109,  132  /.,  275;    of 
property  and  position,  391,  394, 

395- 

Initiative,  255. 
Inns,  379. 
Innocence,  316. 
Inquisitiveness,  148. 
Insane,  treatment  of,  387. 
Insanity,  197. 
Insight,  422. 
Insistence,  152. 
Insolence,  254. 
Inspiration,  423. 
Instinct,  defined,  7,  82. 
Instincts,    The  Similarity  of  the, 

131  ft- 
Instincts,  not  unconscious  thoughts, 

132;.;  grades  of,  145  #• 
Instinctive  action,  131. 
Insult,  253. 
Integrity,  316. 
Intellectual,  418. 
Intelligence,  422. 
Intensity,  421. 
Intentions,  153,  189. 
Intentness,  148,  155. 
Interest,  148,  155,  173,  286. 
Intimacy,  239. 
Intimidation,  240. 
Intrepidity,  240. 
Intricacy,  422. 

Introjectory  organs,  270,  274. 
Intrusive,  230. 
Invention,  423. 
Inventions,  189. 
Inventors,  244. 
Investigation,  156. 
Irascible,  254. 
Irish,  409. 
Irony,  344. 
Irritable,  254. 
Isolation,  sense  of,  306. 
Italians,  409. 


JEALOUSY,  237,  240. 

Jeering,  157,  255. 

Jests,  344. 

Jesus,  348;  John  the  Baptist  and, 

322. 

Jews,  409,  410. 

John  the  Baptist  and  Jesus,  322. 
Jokes,  344. 
Joking,  157,  301. 
Joviality,  252. 
Joy,  238. 
Judges,  358. 
Just,  333. 
Justice,   primitive,  348;    modern, 

349 /• 

KANT,  387;  First  Truths,  no  ff.; 
and  free-will,  1 1 1  /.;  antinomies, 
114^".;  idea  of  the  world,  118  /. 

Keenness,  422. 

Kempis  a,  Thomas,  317. 

Kindness,  352. 

King,  391. 

King  Arthurs,  198. 

Kipling's  "An  Habitation  En- 
forced," 374. 

Kissing,  219. 

Knavery,  335. 

Kneeling,  240. 

Knowledge,  156,  190;  love  of,  193 

LABOR  unions,  403,  4i2/. 
Laces,  210. 
Lady,  391. 
La  Fontaine,  154. 
Lamentation,  238. 
Landscapes,  189. 

Language,  1 567.,  323  #.;  historical 
development,  324 /.,  328;  use  of, 

327  /• 

Languidness,  218,  238. 
Largeness,  422. 
Lascivious,  245,  248. 
Lassitude,  218. 
Laudation,  333. 
Laudator  temporis  acti,  331. 
Laughing,  laughter,  151,  238,  242, 

252,  255. 

Laws,  192,  319,  388,  397. 
Lawns,  209. 
Laxity,  422. 
Laziness,  149,  421. 
Lazy,  174. 
Leaders,  293,  320  ff. 


INDEX 


443 


Leadership,  love  of,  356. 

Leaning,  153. 

Legends,  331  /. 

Lending,  346. 

Leniency,  338 

Lewd,  245. 

Liberty,  396;   and  law,  21. 

Licentious,  245. 

Licking,  219. 

Life,  12,  30;  mental  essence  of, 
62  /.;  theories  of  conduct  and, 
144  /.;  view  of,  108;  love  of, 
194. 

Light,  sensation  of,  68  ff. 

Lightness,  238. 

Likes,  liking,  188,  243,  148,  153, 
224. 

Lincoln,  428. 

Literary  men,  associations  of,  403. 

Literature,  258;   study  of,  341. 

Living  matter,  laws  of,  1 2,  30. 

Loafing,  245. 

Loathing,  307. 

Lobster,  adaptation  and  regenera- 
tion in,  76,  165  /. 

Location,  sense  of,  188. 

Loeb,  J.,  65  «.,  89  n.,  90. 

Lofty,  418. 

Logic,  192. 

Loneliness,  286. 

Longfellow,  quoted,  160. 

Longing,  147. 

Looseness,  422. 

Loquacity,  252. 

Lord,  391. 

Loss,  sense  of,  191. 

Lost,  fear  of  being,  286. 

Love,  148,  153,  212,  224,  243,  248; 
ideal,  310. 

Low,  407. 

Lowliness,  404. 

Loyalty,  352  /.,  355. 

Lubbock,  287,  308. 

Lucidity,  422. 

Luck,  260. 

Lukewarmness,  157. 

Lust,  212,  223,  248. 

Luther,  387. 

McCoOK,  H.  C.,  282. 
Machiavelli,  396. 
Machines  (political),  409. 
Machinist,  189. 
Magic,  260. 


Magnanimity,  241. 

Magnetism,  249. 

Magnificence,  love  of,  355. 

Maidenly,  213. 

Maleficent,  335. 

Malevolence,  307. 

Malevolent,  335. 

Manes,  208,  213. 

Manly,  213. 

Manners,  406. 

Marlowe  and  Shakespeare,  321. 

Marquis,  391. 

Marriage,  371  ff. 

Martyrs,  320. 

Marvelling,  155. 

Masculine,  213  (2). 

Material  instinct,  the,  83,  162  ff.; 
breadth  of,  192;  in  Society,  195; 
character  of,  191,  195;  its  prob- 
lems, 197;  and  Personal  instinct 
compared,  210 /.;  in  art,  199  /., 
361;  in  religion,  200  /.;  in  So- 
ciety, 300  ff.,  335  /.,  339  ff., 
346  ff. 

Mathematics,  192. 

Matter,  Mind  and,  n  ff. 

Mechanical  traits,  study  of,  424. 

Medicine,  189,  192. 

Meekness,  234,  345. 

Melancholy,  196. 

Memorable,  333. 

Memory,  theory  of,  91  ff.;  control 
of  impulsive  movements  by, 
105 /• 

Memories,  in  sequence,  94  /.; 
recognition  of  practical  reliabil- 
ity of,  103. 

Mendicity,  335. 

Menials,  391. 

Mercy,  241. 

Merriment,  238. 

Mess-mate,  379. 

Meteorology,  192. 

Methods,  156,  192,  243. 

Migrations,  theory  of,  370  /.,  383  /. 

Mild,  306. 

Milk-glands,  270  /.,  274,  277. 

Milton,  361. 

Mimicry,  307. 

Mind,  and  Matter,  1 1  ff.;  The  Ele- 
ments of,  48  ff.;  discovery  of,  in 
others,  329  /. 

Mindfulness,  315. 

Ministers,  405. 


444 


INDEX 


Miracles,  260. 

Misanthropy,  307,  337. 

Miserliness,  190. 

Misery,  306. 

Misgiving,  155,  157. 

Missionaries,  405. 

Mistakes,  theory  of,  96.  (See  also 
deceived  satisfactions.) 

Moaning,  151. 

Mobs,  403. 

Mobility,  422. 

Mockery,  255. 

Moderation,  315. 

Modesty,  315,  358  /. 

Molecule,  mind  of,  57  ft. 

Molecules,  24  ft. 

Moliere  and  Shakespeare,  423. 

Monarch,  391. 

Monarchies,  396. 

Monastic  life,  317. 

Money,  190;   love  of,  190. 

Monism,  8,  15  ft.,  ir4  /. 

Monks,  317. 

Monstrous,  336. 

Mood,  108,  422. 

Moodiness,  196,  255. 

Moose,  horns  of,  209. 

Moral,  333. 

Morality,  316. 

More's  Utopia,  360. 

Morgan,  Lloyd,  96,  98,  136,  378. 

Morgan,  T.  H.,  28. 

Moroseness,  255. 

Morphology,  57,  61,  71  /.,  163  (2), 
164. 

Mortification,  243. 

Moth  and  flame,  183  /. 

Mothers,  293,  372,  376,  380. 

Movement,  52  /.;  of  cells,  64  /.; 
theory  of,  150;  from  extreme 
impulses,  150  /.;  Material,  173 
ff.;  Personal,  218  ft.;  Social, 
285  ft.;  interpretation  of,  175  /., 
225  /.,  298  /. 

Moving  (adj.),  307. 

Multicellular  plants  and  animals, 

32  #• 

Munificence,  352. 
Murder,  336. 

Muscular  and  brain  actions,  106  /. 
Music,  199. 
Mutability,  421. 
Mutations,  theory  of,  79  /. 
Mutualness,  307. 


Myrmecocystus,  282. 
Mystery,  260. 

NAKEDNESS,  sense  of,  167. 

Napoleonic  wars,  401. 

Narrowness,  422. 

Nastiness,  335. 

Nations,  382. 

Natural,  195. 

Nature,  love  of,  200. 

Naughty,  335. 

Navy,  on  its  social  side,  408. 

Neatness,  407. 

Necessity,  sense  of,  191. 

Negligence,  335,  336. 

Negro,  410;    question,  400,  411  /. 

Neighborliness,  307. 

Nervous  system,  36. 

Nervousness,  165,  167. 

Nests,  theory  of,  282  /. 

Nesting  instinct,  the,  173. 

News,  258. 

Newton,  429. 

Nice,  420. 

Nobility,  391. 

Nonsense,  345. 

Nostalgia,  191. 

Notable,  333. 

Notoriety,  love  of,  356. 

Novelty,  258. 

Nymphs,  259. 

OATHS,  253. 

Obduracy,  337. 

Obedience,  307,  315. 

Objective  type,  426. 

Obligation,  309;  sense  of,  313,  315. 

Obligingness,  307. 

Obscene,  245. 

Obscenity,  253. 

Obsequiousness,  335. 

Obsession,  197. 

Obstinacy,  157. 

Obtrusiveness,  335. 

Obtuseness,  420. 

Odd,  335. 

Offensive,  335. 

Office,  love  of,  356. 

Officers,  391. 

Offspring,  desire  of,  273,  374. 

Ogling,  232. 

Oiliness,  336. 

Omens,  259. 

Omnipotence,  200. 


INDEX 


445 


Omnipresence,  200. 

Omniscience,  200. 

Open,  195. 

Opinionated,  254. 

Oppression,  396. 

Optimism,  199. 

Order  (Social),  319. 

Orderliness  (mental),  156. 

Orderly,  195. 

Organisms,  multicellular,  68  ff.; 
unicellular,  60  ff.;  differences  in, 
91. 

Organization,  307. 

Orientation,  188,  189. 

Ornamentation,  361. 

Ought,  309. 

Ought-ness,  313. 

Outcast,  338,  404. 

Outlawry,  337. 

Outrageous,  335. 

Ovations,  357. 

Overflow  actions,  151,  157;  Ma- 
terial, 185;  Personal,  238,  242  /., 

255- 

Ovicysts,  270,  274. 
Ovipositors,  270. 
Ownership,  187,  188. 

PAGEANTRY,  love  of,  355. 

Pain,  151;    and  pleasure,  55,  82; 

fear  of,  194.     (See  Pleasure.) 
Paint,  235,  407. 
Painting,  199,  209,  258. 
Palliation,  338,  339. 
Palmistry,  429. 
Paltriness,  422. 
Panaceas,  198. 
Pandering,  335. 
Panic,  149,  183,  308. 
Parasites,  adaptations  in,  76. 
Parasitism,  Social,  296  /. 
Pardon,  339. 
Parents,  acts  of,  376;    duties  of, 

376- 

Parliaments,  391. 
Parsimoniousness,  190. 
Partiality,  335,  379. 
Parties,  political,  403,  413. 
Partisans,  391. 
Partnerships,  403. 
Passion,  148,  243. 
Pathetic,  307. 
Patience,  157. 
Patient,  191. 


Patriotism,  387. 

Patronization,  355,  407. 

Paul,  St.,  326. 

Pauperism,  335. 

Peasants,  391,  403. 

Peers,  391. 

Peevish,  254. 

Penetration,  422. 

Penitence,  339. 

Penury,  sense  of,  191. 

Peoples,  382. 

Perceptions,  percepts,  148-149, 
173,  213,  286. 

Peremptory,  254. 

Perfidious,  335. 

Perfumes,  210,  407. 

Perfunctoriness,  336. 

Perjury,  335. 

Persecutions,  409. 

Perseverance,.  421. 

Persistence,  157,  191. 

Personal  instinct,  the,  83,  202  ff.; 
its  influence  on  growth,  204  /.;  in 
flowers  and  fruits,  207;  field  of, 
210  ff.;  range  of,  216  /.;  com- 
pared with  Material,  210  /.; 
compared  with  Social,  211  /.; 

loCUS  Of,    213;     foCUS    Of,    222  /.,' 

and  the  sexes,  214;  and  repro- 
duction, 219  ft.;  and  marriage, 
3^7  ff-,'  physical  expression  of, 
218;  actions  of,  218  ff.;  negative 
actions  of,  225  ft.;  attack,  225  ft.,' 
as  between  two  individuals, 
229  ft.;  in  relations  between  three 
or  more,  236$.,  239  #.;  thoughts, 
246  ff.;  with  language,  249  ff.; 
its  effect  on  language,  250  /.; 
nature  of,  260;  not  moral,  255 
ft.;  in  art,  258,  361;  in  religion, 
258  ft.;  in  Society,  245  /.,  300  #., 

335  /-.  339  ff;  35°  ff->'  in  the 
family,  379  ff.;  in  the  State, 
389  ff.;  in  polite  society,  406  ff. 

Personal-Material  traits,  245. 

Personality,  249. 

Personifications,  362. 

Persuasion,  338. 

Pertinacity,  421. 

Pertness,  254. 

Perverse,  335. 

Pessimism,  199. 

Pettiness,  422. 

Pettish,  254. 


446 


INDEX 


Phalaropes,  208,  424. 

Phantoms,  259. 

Pharisaism,  335. 

Philoprogenitiveness,  374. 

Philosopher's  stone,  198. 

Philosophic  systems,  199. 

Phlegm,  421. 

Phrenology,  429. 

Physics,  192. 

Physiology,  189. 

Piety,  404. 

Pillory,  338. 

Pining,  238. 

Piquancy,  249. 

Pity,  241,  307,  338. 

Placability,  338. 

Placidity,  306. 

Planarians,  34  /. 

Plans,  153,  189,  243. 

Plants,  influence  of  reproduction 
on,  277  /. 

Plato,  Socrates  and,  321. 

Plato's  Republic,  360. 

Play,  301  /.,  340  ff. 

Pleasantry,  344. 

Pleasing,  249. 

Pleasure,  258;  and  pain,  55,  82;  of 
Practical  instincts,  151;  of 
Thought  instincts,  157;  Body- 
Material,  1 64/.;  Extra-Material 
167 /.;  Thought-Material,  190  /.; 
Practical-Personal,  238;  Rec- 
ognition-Personal, 242;  Thought 
Personal,  255;  Social,  306. 

Pledging,  346. 

Pliableness,  421. 

Plodding,  421. 

Pluming,  242. 

Poe,  428  /. 

Poetry,  138. 

Poisoning,  244. 

Poles,  409. 

Police,  391,  397. 

Polished,  407. 

Politeness,  351. 

Polluted,  335. 

Polygamy,  303. 

Ponderousness,  421. 

Popes,  405. 

Popular  idol,  357. 

Popularity,  love  of,  356. 

Portents,  259. 

Posing,  336. 

Positive,  254. 


Poverty,  sense  of,  191. 
Powder,  407. 
Power,  love  of,  355. 
Practical  instincts,  the,  147  /. 
Practical-Material    instinct,    the, 

170  f. 
Practical-Personal     instinct,     the, 

210  ff. 

Practical-Social  instinct,  the,  285  ff. 
Practical  joke,  343. 
Practice,  theory  of,  96  /. 
Praise,  259. 
Pranks,  301. 
Prayers,  259,  405. 
Precaution,.  155,  190. 
Precedence,  love  of,  356. 
Precision,  422. 
Predatory  instinct,  the,  173. 
Pregnancy,  influence  upon  body, 

77,    276   ff.;    and    the   family, 

37i  ff- 

Premonitions,  260. 
Presages,  260. 
Presentiments,  260. 
Presumption,  254. 
Pretence,  336. 
Prettiness,  249. 
Pride,  242. 
Priests,  405. 
Primitive  type,  418. 
Prince,  391. 
Principles,  156,  192. 
Printing-press,  397. 
Priority  of  Material  instinct,  163  /., 

171. 

Prison,  338. 
Privilege,  339. 
Probity,  316. 
Profaneness,  404. 
Proficiency,  422. 
Profit,  love  of,  190. 
Profusion,  250  /. 
Pronouns,  use  of,  358. 
Proper,  334. 
Property,  right  of,  346. 
Prophecies,  260. 
Propkiation,  339. 
Proselytizing,  405. 
Prostrations,  240,  259. 
Protest,  338. 
Protozoa,  26  ff. 
Providence,  155,  190. 
Provoking,  249. 
Prowling,  173. 


INDEX 


447 


Prudence,  155,  189,  190,  245. 

Prudery,  335. 

Prurient,  245. 

Prying,  148. 

Psychology,  practical  value  of,  427. 

Public    lands,    buildings,    money, 

385- 

Publicity,  love  of,  356. 

Pugnacity,  240. 

Punishment,  338. 

Punning,  344. 

Pure,  333. 

Purgation,  339. 

Purity  of  fusions,  25-26;  in  mol- 
ecules, 25-26;  in  crystals  and 
protozoa,  26;  in  multicellular 
animals,  71  /.,  172;  in  Personal 
unions,  236  /.;  in  Social  units, 
297  /•>  333  ft->'  in  the  family,  374 
/.;  in  the  State,  387  /.,  409. 

Purity  (Social),  307,  316, 333,  359. 

Purposes,  134  /.,  153,  189. 

Pushing,  230. 

Pusillanimity,  225. 

QUACKERY,  335. 

Quailing,  149. 

Quails,  379. 

Quarrel,  253. 

Queen-bees,  battles  of,  299;  intro- 
duction to  hive,  334;  produc- 
tion of,  295. 

Queer,  407. 

Querulous,  254. 

Quickness,  419,  421. 

Quixotism,  351. 

RABBLE,  391. 

Race-antagonisms,  in  animals,  300; 

in  men,  410  ft. 
Racine,  Corneille  and,  321. 
Radiance,  238,  252. 
Rage,  240. 
Railing,  253. 
Railroads,  396. 
Range,  422. 
Rankle,  243. 
Rapidity,  421. 
Rapture,  238. 
Rascality,  337. 
Rashness,  138,  240. 
Ravishment,  238. 
Raw,  420. 
Readiness,  422. 


Realms,  382. 

Reasonable,  191;   actions,  153  /. 

Reasoning,  156;    theory  of,  97  ft.; 

type,  425. 

Rebelliousness,  335. 
Rebuking,  338. 
Recognition,   286;    between  dogs, 

8l  /.,  133  /; 

Recognition  instincts,  the,  151  /. 
Recognition-Material  instinct,  the, 

185  £ 

Recognition  memory  in  homing  in- 
stinct, 1 86  /.;  in  storing  instinct, 
188. 

Recognition-Personal  instinct,  the, 

238/- 
Recognition-Social    instinct,    the, 

3°4- 

Reconciliation,  339. 

Recrimination,  338. 

Redemption,  404. 

Refined,  407. 

Reflex  action,  131,  149;  and  mem- 
ory, 105  /. 

Reformation,  395. 

Reformers,  320,  387. 

Refractoriness,  335. 

Refreshment,  sense  of,  165. 

Regalia,  love  of,  355. 

Regard,  249. 

Regeneration,  27  /.,  62,  72;  and 
subfusions,  34  /. 

Regret,  339. 

Regulations,  319. 

Relenting,  339. 

Reliability,  316. 

Relief,  151. 

Religion,  158;  and  Material  in- 
stinct, 200  /.;  and  Personal  in- 
stinct, 258  ft.;  and  Social  in- 
stinct, 362  ft. 

Relish,  151. 

Reluctance,  157. 

Remonstrance,  338. 

Remorse,  339. 

Renown,  333. 

Repellent,  249. 

Repentance,  339. 

Repetition,  58,  63;  Material,  175, 
176,  179;  Personal,  aio;  Social, 
296;  Social  instinct  a,  263. 

Repetitions  necessary  for  thought, 

I26/. 

Reprimanding,  338. 


448 


INDEX 


Reproach,  338. 

Reproduction,  29,  33;  and  Per- 
sonal instinct,  219  ft.,  369  ft. 

Reproductive  acts  and  organs, 
theory  of,  270  ft. 

Reproving,  338. 

Republics,  396. 

Repugnance,  212,  224. 

Repulsion,  148,  153,  225. 

Reputation,  333. 

Research,  156. 

Resentment,  334. 

Reserve,  155. 

Resignation,  338. 

Resolutions,  153. 

Resourcefulness,  422. 

Respect,  319,  333. 

Responsibility,  sense  of,  315;  to 
the  past,  331  /.;  to  the  future, 

332  /• 

Restful,  306. 
Restlessness,   137,   138,   147,   155, 

217. 

Restraining,  306. 
Resurrection,  200. 
Retaliation,  241. 
Returning,  152. 
Revelations,  260. 
Revelling,  407. 
Revenge,  241. 
Reverence,  193,  319. 
Reviling,  338. 
Revivals,  356,  405. 
Rewarding,  346. 
Rhapsody,  251. 
Riches,  love  of,  190. 
Riddles,  344. 
Ridicule,  344. 
Ridiculous,  sense  of,  345. 
Right,  333;   sense  of,  313. 
Righteousness,  404. 
Rigidity,  422. 
Rigor,  337- 
Riotousness,  335. 
Rites,  family,  378  /.;  church,  405. 
Rivalry,  237,  239;    broadening  of, 

242. 

Roads,  188,  189,  385. 
Roar,  242. 
Robustness,  421. 
Roguery,  337. 
Roguishness,  251. 
Romping,  301. 
Room-mate,  379. 


Roots,  as  storehouses,  176  n. 
Rough,  420. 
Rovers,  245. 
Rowdyism,  335. 
Rudeness,  335. 
Rugged,  420. 
Ruse,  244. 

Russo-Japanese  War,  402. 
Rustic,  407. 
Ruthlessness,  335. 

SACRIFICE,  405. 

Sacrilege,  404. 

Safety,  sense  of,  168. 

Saintliness,  404. 

Saints,  261,  405. 

Salary,  346. 

Salvation,  404. 

Sanguineness,  196. 

Sarcasm,  344. 

Satiety,  151. 

Satisfaction,  151. 

Sauciness,  254. 

Savage,  418. 

Scandalous,  335. 

Scholars,  associations  of,  403. 

Science,  158;   physical,  192;   prac 

tical,  189;    study  of,  341. 
Scolding,  338. 
Scorn,  253. 
Scrupulousness,  316. 
Sculpture,  70,  258. 
Scurrility,  344. 
Security,  sense  of,  168. 
Seduction,  Seductiveness,  337. 
Seeds,  as  storehouses,  176  n. 
Seeking,  152. 
Seemly,  334. 

Selection,  natural,  9  /.,  48  /. 
Self-abasement,  339. 
Self -confidence,  196. 
Self-control,  155,  189,  245. 
Self-deception,  154. 
Self-denial,  315. 
Self-esteem,  255. 
Self-government,  155. 
Selfishness,  254,  196. 
Self-love,  196. 
Self-  possession,  155. 
Self-preservation,  instinct  of,  142, 

196. 

Self-respect,  255,  316. 
Self-restraint,  155,  245. 
Self-sacrifice,  315. 


INDEX 


449 


Self-satisfaction,  196. 

Self-seeking,  196. 

Self-willed,  254. 

Selling,  190. 

Sempiternity,  200. 

Sensations,  68  ft. 

Senses,  63,  68   ft.;    reliability   of, 

129. 

Sensitiveness,  419. 
Serenity,  306. 
Serious,  195. 
Servants,  381,  391. 
Service,  307. 
Servility,  335. 
Severity,  337. 
Sewing,  189. 
Sex,  66  /.,  213;   recognition,  67  /.; 

determination    of,    266    ft.;     in 

aphids,  267. 
Sexes,   77  /.;    theory  of,   265  ft.; 

complementary  nature  of,  266  /. 
Sex-cells,     203;      production      of, 

220  /.;  Social  origin  of,  272  /. 
Sex-glands,  270;  as  Personal  focus, 

222  /. 

Sexual  vices,  224,  335. 
Shabby,  407. 
Shakespeare,  108,  426  /.;  Taming 

of    the    Shrew,  234;     Marlowe 

and,    321;     Twelfthnight,  372; 

Moliere,  Goldsmith,  423  /. 
Shallowness,  422. 
Sham,  336. 
Shame,  243,  255,  339. 
Sharpness,  422. 
Sheepishness,  225. 
Shell,  165. 
Shifting,  421. 
Shirking,  335. 
Shivers,  218. 

Shout-ing,  151,  238,  242,  355. 
Show,  love  of,  355. 
Showiness,  250. 
Shrewd,  156. 
Shrewish,  254. 
Shrinking,  149. 
Shuffling,  421. 
Shyness,  225. 

Sickness,  191;   feeling  of,  165. 
Sight,  63. 
Signals,  323. 

Similarity  of  (he  Instincts,  131  ft. 
Simpering,  225. 
Simple,  195. 


Simulation,  336. 

Sins,  334. 

Sincere,  195. 

Singing,  217,  231,  238,  405. 

Sinister,  307. 

Skill,  422. 

Skin,  165. 

Skulker,  240. 

Skunk,  207. 

Slack-ness,  174,  149. 

Slander,  335. 

Slavery,  396. 

Slaves,  381,  391. 

Sleekness,  336. 

Sloth,  421. 

Slowness,  421. 

Sluggishness,  420. 

Slur,  253. 

Slyness,  336. 

Smallness,  422. 

Smartness,  254. 

Smell,  63. 

Smiling,  151,  232,  238,  252. 

Smoothness,  422. 

Smugness,  336. 

Snail-shell,  166. 

Snakes'  eating,  176. 

Sneer,  253. 

Snub,  253. 

Sobriety,  359. 

Social  instinct,  the,  83,  262  ft.;  and 
Personal  compared,  211  /.;  inde- 
pendence of,  263  /.;  influence  in 
body,  265  ft.;  effect  on  individual 
action,  290  ft.,  315  /.,  319  /., 
333  ff->  358  /•>  and  passim;  at- 
tack of,  298  /.;  dependent  on 
locality,  299  /.;  relations  with 
Material  and  Personal,  300  ft., 
335  ff->  339  ft;  346  ft-;  essential 
acts  of,  307;  quality  of,  309  ft., 
superiority  of,  311 /.;  vagueness 
in  thought,  310,  316;  experi- 
ments of,  318;  negative  acts  of, 
337  /.;  negative  qualities  of, 
337;  problem  of,  339  /./  in  art, 
361  /./  in  religion,  362  /. 

Social  service  and  Material  ex- 
change, 347  /• 

Social  Units,  the,  366  ft.;  test  of, 
264;  composition  of,  290;  purity 
of,  297  /.,  333  ft.;  in  time,  330; 
Personal  instinct  in,  350  /.;  as 
organisms,  373. 


450 


INDEX 


Socialism,  360. 

Societies,  secret,  403,  406. 

Society,  polite,  406  ft. 

Socrates,  387;  and  Plato,  321. 

Softness,  421. 

Solicitude,  307. 

Solidarity,  307. 

Solidity,  421. 

Solitude,  sense  of,  306. 

Song,  258,  259;  State,  388. 

Soothing,  306. 

Soothsayers,  260. 

Sophistry,  253. 

Sorcery,  260. 

Sordidness,  190. 

Sorrow,  238. 

Sourness,  337. 

Space,  191. 

Sparingness,  190. 

Specialization,  unity  in,  86  /.;  of 
the  sexes,  266  ff. 

Speciousness,  253. 

Spectators,  356. 

Speechlessness,  252. 

Spells,  260. 

Spider-webs,  167. 

Spinning,  189. 

Spiritedness,  149. 

Spirits,  259. 

Spiritual,  418. 

Spiritualism,  n. 

Spite,  241,  243. 

Splendor,  love  of,  355. 

Spontaneity,  423. 

Sport,  244,  301. 

Sprees,  246. 

Sprightliness,  238. 

Spurs,  208. 

Squandering,  245. 

Stability,  421. 

Stale,  246. 

Stammering,  252. 

Stars,  study  of,  189. 

State,  the,  382  ff.;  composed  of 
families,  384  /.;  entrance  into, 
386  /.;  power  of,  388  /.;  order 
in,  389  ft.;  historical  develop- 
ment of,  389  ff.;  Material  influ- 
ences in,  392  ft.;  change  from 
Personal  to  Social  form,  398  ft.; 
subfusions  of,  403  ft. ;  relation  to 
its  subfusions,  409  ft. 

State-Material  instinct,  the,  385  ft. 

State-Personal  instinct,  the,  401. 


State-Social  instinct,  the,  401  /. 

Stateliness,  355. 

Statuary,  209. 

Steadiness,  185. 

Steam-boat,  396. 

Sterility,  423. 

Sternness,  337. 

Stiffness,  422. 

Stimulative,  306. 

Sting,  243. 

Sting,  Social  weapon,  298  /. 

Stinginess,  190. 

Stoicism,  199. 

Stoniness,  420. 

Stormy,  254. 

Stoutness,  421. 

Straightforward,  195. 

Strange,  335. 

Stranger,  treatment  of,  298,   334, 

375.  387»  4°4,  407,  4°8. 
Strategy,  244. 
Strength,  419. 
Strenuousness,  421. 
Strictness,  337. 
Striving,  149. 
Stubbornness,  157. 
Stupefaction,  155. 
Stupidity,  420,  422. 
Sturdiness,  421. 
Style,  108,  251,  361,  362,  406. 
Stylish,  407. 
Subfusions,  34  ft. ;  origin  of,  85  ft., 

91;  of  State,  403  ft.;  relation  to 

State,  409  ft. 
Subjective,  426. 
Sublime,  195. 
Subnormality,  420,  422. 
Suffering,  151. 
Suicide,  238. 
Sulkiness,  243,  255. 
Sultriness,  feeling,  of,  163. 
Sumptuousness,  love  of,  355. 
Superciliousness,  252. 
Superficiality,  422. 
Supernatural,  200. 
Superstitious,  260. 
Supplication,  339. 
Sureness,  422. 
Surprise,  152,  155. 
Survival,  law  of,  10,  48  /. 
Susceptible,  213. 
Swaggering,  242. 
Swearing,  250,  253. 
Sweetness,  249. 


INDEX 


451 


Swiftness,  421. 

Swindling,  335. 

Sycophancy,  335. 

Sympathetic,  333. 

Sympathy,  212,  289  /.,  307,    and 

passim;   with  sickness,  307  ft.; 

means  of,  322  ft. 
Synthesis,  156;  theory  of,  97  ft. 
Systems,  156,  192. 


TALENT,  423. 

Talismans,  259. 

Talkativeness,  306. 

Tame,  246. 

Tanning,  189. 

Tantalization,  251. 

Tardiness,  336. 

Tart,  254. 

Taste,  20,  63,  153. 

Tasteful,  407. 

Tattooing,  209. 

Taunting,  255. 

Taverns,  379. 

Teachableness,  315. 

Teachers,  associations  of,  403. 

Teaching,  405. 

Tears,  238,  306. 

Teazing,  251. 

Telegraph,  396-397. 

Telepathic  sense,  287. 

Telephone,  397. 

Temerity,  240. 

Temper,  240. 

Temperament,  108. 

Temperance,  315. 

Temporization,  336. 

Temptation,  337. 

Tenacity,  149,  157. 

Tenderness,  351. 

Tennis,  343. 

Termagant,  254. 

Terror,  149,  183. 

Terrorization,  396. 

Testy,  254. 

Theft,  335. 

Theocracy,  396. 

Thirst,  163. 

Thoroughness,  195. 

Thought,  91  ft.,  122  ft.,  134  /.;  and 

muscular  acts,  106  /. 
Thought  instincts,  the,  152  ft. 
Thought-Material     instinct,     the, 

Ittf. 


Thought-Personal     instinct,     the, 

243  #• 

Thought-Social  instinct,  the,  305  ft. 
Thoughtful-ness,  418,  156,  351. 
Thralls,  391. 
Threat,  253. 
Thrift,  190. 
Thrills,  218. 
Time,  191;  and  space  as  illusions, 

199. 

Timeservingness,  336. 
Timidity,  225. 
Tiresome,  246. 
Toadyism,  335. 
Tobacco,  246. 
Toleration,  338. 
Tools,  189. 

Tool-using  instinct,  the,  167. 
Tories    of    American   Revolution, 

387- 

Torment,  151. 
Torpidity,  420. 
Tortuousness,  422. 
Torture,  151. 
Touch,  sense  of,  63. 
Touchy,  254. 
Towns,  382. 
Tractability,  315. 
Trade,  189,  190. 
Traditions,  330. 
Tramps,  245. 
Tranquility,   167,   306;    sense  of, 

165- 

Transgressions,  334. 
Travel,  189. 
Treachery,  244. 
Treason,  336. 
Treasures,  love  of,  190. 
Treaties,  402. 
Trembling,  149. 
Trespasses,  334. 
Tribes,  382. 
Trickery,  244. 
Trim,  407. 
Trite,  246. 

Triumphal  processions,  357. 
Triumphing,  242. 
Trivial,  245,  362. 
Truculent,  254. 
Trumpeting,  238,  242. 
Trust,  333. 
Trusts,  403. 
Truth,  124  /.,  156,  191;    love  of, 

I24/.,  156.  *93.  3i°- 


452 


INDEX 


Truths,  necessary,  theory  of,  1 28  /. 
Turgidity,  251. 

Types,  414  ft.,  428,  429  /.;    ma- 
terial for  classification,  427  /. 
Tyranny,  396  (2). 

UGLY,  249. 

Unanimity,  307. 

Understanding  of  language,  325  /. 

(See  Comprehension.) 
Uneasiness,  152,  155,  157,  167. 
Unexciting,  306. 
Unfair-ness,  253,  244,  335. 
Unfriendliness,  252. 
Uniforms,  355. 
Union,  307. 

Unions,  labor,  403,  412  /. 
United  States,  401. 
Unity,  307. 

Universe,  explanation  of,  119. 
Unnatural,  336. 
Unselfishness,  315. 
Uprightness,  404. 
Urbanity,  352. 
Usages,  319. 
Usury,  335. 

VACILLATION,  421,  423,  426. 

Vagabonds,  245. 

Vagaries,  138. 

Vague,  420. 

Valor,  240. 

Values,  sense  of,  107. 

Vandalism,  335. 

Vanity,  242,  255. 

Vapidity,  422. 

Variations,  414  ft.;  individual, 
79  /.;  in  domesticated  plants, 
78,  414  /.;  in  range,  415  /.; 
in  grade,  417  ff.;  in  mechani- 
cal qualities,  419  ff. 

Varlets,  391. 

Vaunting,  255. 

Vegetarianism,  199. 

Vehemence,  421. 

Venality,  335. 

Veneration,  319. 

Venomousness,  241. 

Venturesomeness,  240. 

Versatility,  422. 

Vexation,  240. 

Vices,  334;   sexual,  224,  335. 

Victor,  240. 

Vigilance,  155,  190. 


Vigor,  421. 

Villages,  382. 

Villainy,  337 

Vindictiveness,  241  (2). 

Violence,  240. 

Virginity,  359. 

Virile,  213. 

Virtue,  316. 

Virulent,  254. 

Visions,  317. 

Vitality,  167;   sense  of,  165. 

Vivacity,  185,  196. 

Vivid,  420. 

Vixenish,  254. 

Voice,  Personal  tones  of,  250. 

Volubility,  252. 

Voluptuous,  213. 

Voracious,  174. 

Vulgar,  407. 

WAGES,  346. 

Waggishness,  344. 

Wailing,  238. 

Wandering,  173,  203,  217,  286. 

Wandering  Jews,  198. 

Want,  153. 

Wanton,  245. 

Warm,  213. 

War-mask,  235. 

War-whoop,  235. 

Washington,  428. 

Wasp-nests,  167. 

Wasteful,  245. 

Watchfulness,  155. 

Wattles,  208. 

Wavering,  152. 

Ways,  188. 

Waywardness,  251,  254. 

Weakness,    '421;    sense    of,    165, 

167. 

Wealth,  love  of,  190. 
Weather-prophecy,  189,  260. 
Weaving,  189. 
Weeping,  151,  238,  339. 
Weightiness,  422. 
Welcome,  379. 

Well-being,  feeling  of,  165,  167. 
Well-bred,  407. 
Whimsicality,  344. 
Whining,  225,  241. 
Wholesome,  306. 
Wicked,  334. 
Wild  oats,  138. 
Wilderness,  fear  of,  286. 


INDEX 


453 


Wildness,  421  (2). 
Wilfulness,  251. 
Wiliness,  244. 
Will,  313-3I4- 
Willingness,  315. 
Winsomeness,  249. 
Wish,  153. 
Wit,  345,  356- 
Witchcraft,  260. 
Woe,  151. 
Womanly,  213. 
Wombs,  270,  274. 
Wonder,  155. 
Woods,  fear  of,  286. 
Words,  confusion  in   use  of,  160, 
3*3 /• 


Wordsworth,  346;   quoted,  108. 

Workhouse,  338. 

Worry,  157. 

Worthy,  333. 

Wrangle,  253. 

Wrath,  307,  334. 

Wren  and  dog,  98. 

Wretchedness,  306. 

Wrong,  334. 

YAWNING,  218. 
Yearning,  138,  147. 
Yellow  journalism,  258. 
Yellowstone  Park,  386. 

ZEAL,  157. 


- 


IP 


3 


— 


/ 


I  I 


L 

-h  • ' 


i — t 


University  of  California 
SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIUTY 


ZO 


t V 


A    001050152     6 


r     t 


R 


